by Day Leclaire
“No problem. I’ll do them,” Cletus volunteered. “You never let me help with the signs. And you know how much I like doing them.”
“Are you sure?” She couldn’t keep the doubt from her voice. She’d had previous experience with Uncle Cletus’s “help,” and could live without a repeat performance.
“Don’t you think I can?” Her uncle’s tone reflected his hurt.
“Of course I do. It’s just . . .” She gave up. “The list is on the lunchroom table. There’re only three items you need to change today, and I’ve circled the new prices.”
“You’d think I’d never changed a sign before,” he grumbled.
Jordan sighed. That was precisely the problem. He had done them before, and a bigger mess she’d never seen. Oh, well, she’d have to risk it.
Rainer arrived just as she unlocked the front door. “Running a little late?” he asked. “Not good for business, you know.”
“On the contrary. It makes them so eager to get in, they buy twice as much. Are we going to waste time exchanging insults, or are we leaving?”
He pretended to think about it. “Exchanging insults with you is tempting,” he teased. “However, I think we’d better go.”
Cletus came up to stand next to her, his expression reminiscent of a dog guarding a bone. “You watch him,” he whispered loud enough to guarantee Rainer heard.
“Every second,” she promised. “You won’t forget to do up those signs for me? You can handle it?”
“Of course I can handle it,” her uncle said in a wounded voice. “I’m not exactly new at all this, you know.”
Jordan felt repentant. “No. I’m sorry. See you later.”
She gave his cheek a quick peck and turned to Rainer. Why did she suddenly feel she’d taken her life in her hands? Or rather, put it into his, she amended the instant he grasped her fingers and tugged her out the door.
They dashed through the rain to a sporty red convertible, the top up, she noted in relief. He opened the door for her, tucked her inside and closed it, before sprinting around to the driver’s side and climbing in.
She glanced at him curiously. “Where are we going?”
“I thought we’d head to our southernmost stores. They’ll be the ones most like Cornucopia. Then we’ll run over to my parents’ house. Thor said he’d be there this afternoon and I want to introduce you to him.”
“He’s your brother, right?” she said, her mouth turning down. Recalling Andrea’s revelations of the previous day, she didn’t look forward to meeting this particular Thorsen. An image of a ferocious man with bright red hair, ruddy complexion, and a fierce expression rose before her. She shuddered, finding she preferred white-blond hair, a golden tan, and brilliant laughter in his baby blues.
He pulled into traffic. “My big brother.”
“Big brother?” she repeated in disbelief. He must jest. She struggled to imagine a bigger version of Rainer and failed. The man beside her was too unique to copy, let alone enlarge.
Rainer gave a deep sigh. “Yes. It’s sad, but true. I’m the second born, not the first.” He shot her a cocky grin. “My mother tells me that’s why I fight so hard to win.”
“Is it?”
“Not that I’ll admit.”
Jordan’s lips twitched. “Just naturally feisty, are you?”
He looked affronted. “Men aren’t feisty. At least, not in my neck of the woods. What can I say? I like to fight.”
“And win,” she finished for him.
He laughed. “That, too. It isn’t easy when I’m up against a black-haired, stormy-eyed Valkyrie.”
“I’m flattered. I think.”
“You should be.” He glanced at her. “You have a better description?”
She sat in silence for a minute. Then a small memory stirred, tugging at emotions she’d protected for years. “My . . . my Grandpa Joe used to tease me about my looks,” she found herself revealing.
“What did he say?” Rainer asked gently. When she didn’t answer, he urged, “Tell me. I’d like to know.”
“He’d say . . . he’d say I had hair blacker than an Arizona night, cheeks as red as cherry tomatoes and eyes as gray as a Seattle day.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “He grew up in Arizona. My dad and uncle were born there, as well. I suppose that’s why Uncle Cletus wants to return.”
“Your grandfather started Cornucopia?” He caught her nod out of the corner of his eye and asked, “What was he like?”
Memories came flooding back and seemed to tumble out of their own volition. “Grandpa was a big gruff man. I remember he could hoist a hundred-pound sack of spuds on each shoulder and not break a sweat. He’d toss me in the air as though I weighed no more than a cotton ball.” She laughed. “I guess to him I didn’t. He used to call me his little alfalfa sprout.” For the second time that day, tears glistened in her eyes. “Isn’t that silly?”
If anything, his voice became even gentler. “It sounds like someone who loved his granddaughter very much. My father calls my niece, Laura, cabbage head. For some reason, she loves it. Maybe because she instinctively understands how much Dad loves her.” He glanced at Jordan. “How old were you when your parents died?”
“I was five when my mother was killed in a car accident.”
Rainer muttered an exclamation and swung the car to the side of the road. He switched off the engine and faced her, his eyes reflecting his regret. “Damn, Jordan, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
She shook her head. “It was a long time ago and the things I recall are more flashes than actual memories. I know I take after her. She was small and dark, too.” Jordan shrugged helplessly. “It usually comes back to me in the form of a certain scent or expression. Or I’ll hear someone laugh and it’ll evoke a feeling of déjà vu.”
“And your father?” he probed carefully.
“There was an accident at work with the truck. I was fourteen.” She managed a smile. “You should have been around then. You could have gotten Cornucopia for a song.”
“Don’t.” His voice was rough. “How did you manage?”
“Uncle Cletus did the best he could, but he needed help. Things went downhill businesswise for a while until I learned the ropes. These past few years have been pretty good, despite the stroke Uncle Cletus had last summer.”
He sat very still. “Someone told me you’ve been buying at Constantine’s for ten years. You’ve been going down there since you were fourteen?”
She nodded. “Uncle Cletus and I would shop before school. I’d help him set up and then come in to lend a hand after my classes were through for the day. Once I graduated from high school, I took over the buying altogether.”
“I don’t believe this,” he muttered.
“Why not?” She stared at him, puzzled. “I’m much better at it than my uncle. He does wonderful displays and keeps the store in great running order. But he used to annoy the salesmen because he’d—” She stopped abruptly.
“Talk to all the produce?” Rainer finished the sentence for her.
Jordan felt her skin grow warm. “Don’t you dare say anything snide about my uncle,” she warned. “I love him dearly. If he weren’t so . . . so obsessed with produce, we wouldn’t be as successful as we are today.”
Rainer shook his head. “I disagree. But I won’t dispute it with you.” He looked at her curiously. “When do you find time for a social life?”
“I manage,” she said stiffly.
“Right. Now pull the other one. I work in this business remember? I know what sort of hours are involved.” She started to argue and he put a finger to her lips. “Before you say it, I enjoy a social life only because I have help. Good help.”
She spoke around his index finger, tempted to give it a bite. “And I have Uncle Cletus.”
“Precisely.” He stared at her, his gaze speculative. “If ever there lived a damsel in need of rescui
ng, she sits before me. Shall I sweep down on my white charger and carry you off?”
“No,” she said in a firm voice. “I am not Cinderella and I do not think of working at Cornucopia as a life of drudgery. If I did, I’d quit. Nice try, but I’m not buying.”
“And I’m not selling. Cornucopia is a success for one reason and one reason only. And it isn’t your Uncle Cletus. As for you . . .” He smiled teasingly. “Maybe you should know what you’re missing before you dismiss it out of hand.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t.” But maybe she would, especially if he insisted.
He insisted.
Slowly he reached for her, his hands sliding into her hair, holding her in a light embrace. His head lowered, blocking out the rain-splattered windshield, blocking out the pale gray morning, blocking out all sight and sound and thought. Then he kissed her.
The touch of his mouth felt infinitely gentle, his lips moving with delicacy across hers, coaxing a response. She sensed his restraint and wondered if he sensed her inexperience. She didn’t care. She’d always been a fast learner, and he, she suspected, was a skilled teacher. Curious, she allowed her lips to part beneath his.
She didn’t quite know when her feelings changed. One minute she relaxed in his embrace, enjoying his kiss, and the next, she vibrated in his embrace, desperate for his kiss. Desire erupted with the unexpectedness of a hailstorm. She felt his heart drumming in concert with her own, and an urgency built, growing more and more insistent. Never before had a kiss shaken her quite so badly. Never before had she needed a kiss quite so badly.
Her control dissolved like sugar in water, and she trembled, a soft groan slipping from her lips to his. She’d made a tactical error, she realized. She’d been a fool to think Rainer should teach her anything that involved mutual touching. Touching him was a mistake. No, on second thought it was a disaster.
Jordan yanked herself free of his arms and wriggled backward, her spine glued to the car door. She stared at him with wide eyes.
“Nice, wasn’t it?” he asked with a lazy smile.
“Yeah. Sure.” She cleared her throat. “Nice.”
“We should do that more often,” he murmured. “Makes all those fruits and vegetables pale by comparison.”
She lifted her chin. “If you say so.”
“I say so.” He leaned closer, pinning her with his vivid blue gaze. “Honey, I could suck all day on a chili pepper and not come close to the kick I get from kissing you. I’d bet my last zucchini squash you felt the same way.”
It took her a minute to digest that. “Translation?”
“There’s more to life than produce.” He started the car engine and eased into traffic again.
She turned and stared blindly out the window. He’d been right about one thing. She didn’t have much time for a social life. She never had. Not that she’d consciously missed it, not with Cornucopia occupying all her time and attention. She’d worked hard to build the family business, and thereby honor her parents’ memory.
Cornucopia! She suddenly realized how much she’d given away and her mouth tightened. Some spy she’d turned out to be. Show her a little attention, a little sympathy, give her a kiss or two and she’d talk her fool head off. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find the store romanced right out from under her very nose.
She glanced at him uneasily, remembering yesterday’s amorous challenge. If he’d taken their bantering seriously, he’d learned far too much about her from that kiss. Not that she regretted her lack of experience. She just wished he hadn’t gained such a keen awareness of it. If she was any judge, the hunter was hot on the scent of the prey. And the prey was running scared!
It took them close to an hour to get to the first market. Thorsen’s South, the huge sign over the store proclaimed. Located on a prominent corner of a thriving community, the exterior gleamed white in contrast to the dull gray day. Window boxes filled with red and pink geraniums decorated the outside of the large windows.
“I like that,” Jordan said. “It gives the store a homey sort of touch.”
“That’s the idea. It brings in more customers.”
She grimaced. “Don’t spoil it. I want to think it’s done because someone likes flowers, not as a deliberate ploy to attract customers.”
Irony tinged Rainer’s smile. “You’re not being realistic. We’re in business to make money. If a few flowers bring in more customers or encourage those customers to buy a little bit extra, then we’ll use flowers.” He shot her a quick look. “I’m sure you do the same.”
She thought of the walls of her store, most of them decorated with the artwork of her customers’ children. There were also those framed photos of the early days, when Grandpa Joe and her mother and father had been alive, prominently displayed in their special corner. Had she done that, even subconsciously, in an attempt to increase sales?
She shook her head. No. She’d done it to give Cornucopia added warmth, to make it feel more like a home than an impersonal store. She’d done it because Cornucopia was home, more so than the house she occupied with Uncle Cletus. The fact it pleased the customers and made their shop more popular provided an added bonus. But it certainly hadn’t been done with cold deliberation in order to bring in those customers.
“You’re wrong,” Jordan stated firmly. “And that’s why you’ll never succeed in bringing us down.” She looked him square in the eye. “Our store has heart. More, it has soul, and that’s something you can’t generate from balance sheets or analyze on computer printouts.”
Rainer rubbed a hand across his jaw. “So you think our stores lack soul. Well, come in and see for yourself. My sister and her husband run this particular market. I believe you’ll eat those words, my fiery friend.”
They got out of the car and entered the store. Instantly a ball of white fluff streaked toward them, followed by a flurry of blond pigtails. The fluff reached Rainer first.
“Whoa, Snowy. Give me a chance to get through the door.” Rainer laughed, catching the cat in his arms. He shifted the white Persian to his shoulders and caught hold of the pigtails, which turned out to be a little girl, somewhere around five or six.
Jordan watched them, fascinated. Rainer swung the child high in his arms, nearly unseating the cat.
“Uncle Rainer, Uncle Rainer! Mommy said you’d come today.”
“And here I am.” He turned to Jordan. “This rambunctious young lady is my niece, Laura.”
Jordan looked startled. “Not . . .”
“Cabbage head,” he confirmed, with a teasing grin. “And this fur ball is Snowy.” He set Laura on her feet and handed her the cat. “Off you two go before the health inspector hears we have animals in the store.”
Obediently the little girl carted the cat away. Rainer turned to Jordan, gesturing expansively with his arms. “Well, here it is. What do you think?”
Jordan looked around, admiring, despite herself, the clean bright interior. Everything shone either white or chrome—the floors, the metal counters and bins, even the walls. All the color in the store came from the produce, attractively displayed in neat rows and columns.
“It’s lovely.” Professional curiosity took over and she wandered up and down the aisles, studying their arrangements, and comparing prices and quality.
They’d done an excellent job, yet she felt a vague sense of disappointment. Despite what Rainer thought, they still missed something. All right, maybe she couldn’t call the store soulless, but it lacked the warmth and charm of Cornucopia. This market remained . . . just a market.
If Thorsen’s South was just a store, she soon learned Rainer’s sister, Brita, and her husband, Kevin, were much more than mere owners. Unlike the store, they were special, their personalities bright and attractive and friendly. Brita, whose coloring matched Rainer’s, was surprisingly small and dainty. She greeted Jordan as though they were old friends and then ushered her up a flight of stairs i
n the back of the shop.
“We live in the apartment above,” she explained. “We can sit and have a cup of tea and talk, while Rainer and Kevin deal with the business details.” She opened the door to a comfortable living room and led the way to the kitchen.
“Aren’t you involved in that end of things?” Jordan asked, wondering about their setup.
Brita put a kettle of water on the electric burner. “You mean, am I the little woman who minds the register and can’t add two and two without a calculator?” she guessed shrewdly.
“Open mouth, insert size sevens,” Jordan muttered apologetically.
The young woman laughed, not unkindly. “In our family all we ever discuss is business. So I’m happy to find any excuse for a break from it. No,” she corrected herself instantly. “That’s not true, and I wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression.”
“You love it, don’t you? “
Brita nodded. “Our family is very close, and since most of us are in the business in one capacity or another, it’s natural there’d be a lot of shoptalk.” Her eyes twinkled. “If there’s two things Norwegians love, it’s family and food. Working in this business gives us the best of both.”
“I notice you each have Norse names.” Jordan struggled for a tactful way to phrase her question.
“You’re wondering if we’re big on Norwegian ancestry?” Brita smiled. “You haven’t met Thor yet or you wouldn’t ask. Yes, we take our heritage seriously. I’d have chosen a Scandinavian name for Laura, but Kevin put his foot down. Lord help whoever Rainer marries. It’ll be Norse all the way.”
Jordan’s heart did a queer leap. She saw him again, scooping Laura into his arms, his face alight with genuine pleasure and affection. He’d be that way with his own children. He had a natural affinity for them that surprised and delighted her. “Strange he’s not married yet, considering how he feels about family.”
