by Day Leclaire
“Hmph,” he snorted. “More like thin and thin.”
“Hmph,” Walker added.
Jordan slowly climbed the steps to her bedroom. One week remained of Rainer’s time at Cornucopia, she realized dismally. One week to reach an agreement, something they weren’t even close to accomplishing despite their growing relationship. She refused to sell out, and the only way for Rainer to win was to drive them out. Either way would ruin their relationship.
She slumped onto her bed. She still had tomorrow’s date with him. If she were smart, she’d enjoy their few remaining hours, because they’d soon be over. For come week’s end, he’d be out of her life permanently. To her utter astonishment, a solitary tear crept down her cheek.
J ordan slipped out of the house at the crack of dawn. She intended to make the most of her day with Rainer. By unspoken agreement, Uncle Cletus and Cornucopia weren’t mentioned.
“Where to first?” Rainer asked.
“Let’s go into Seattle and walk down by the piers,” she suggested. “We can have breakfast and then stroll through Pike’s Place Market. I’d like to look at the produce stands there and compare prices and quality.”
“Can’t resist, can you?”
She gave him an impish grin. “No.”
“And the fish markets? Shall we pick up some crab or gooey duck?”
She considered it, then shook her head. “Not today. Because after Pike’s, I thought we’d wander around Myrtle Edwards Park and ride the ferry to Bainbridge Island.”
“Full day you have planned there.”
Their gazes met and locked. “I want a full day with you,” she said. It might be our last , she added to herself.
He nodded. “Then let’s get started.”
Walking along the nearly empty piers fronting Puget Sound worked up their appetites. By mutual consent, they stuffed themselves on hot buttery cinnamon rolls while they wandered through Pike’s Place Market.
The vendors there were fiercely competitive, and Jordan studied their stalls with equal parts envy and scorn. They displayed their produce beautifully, she’d give them that, and the quality was top-notch. But none of their stalls came close to comparing with the beauty and distinctiveness of Cornucopia.
Several of the vendors called out greetings, and more than a few seemed astonished to see Jordan and Rainer together. One of the hawkers tossed them each an apple. With smiles of thanks, they moved on to examine the craft booths.
At one jeweler’s stall, a dainty solid gold tomato charm caught Jordan’s eye. The stem and leaf curled onto the vegetable, forming a loop for the chain.
It reminded her of the day Rainer first visited Cornucopia and the double-edged conversation they’d conducted with Mrs. Swenson. She remembered his hands, moving with exquisite delicacy over the plump red tomato. She shivered, staring at the trinket for a long time.
Later, they lunched at an open-air restaurant by the piers, dining on crab salads and sharing a bottle of locally made wine. Jordan couldn’t take her eyes off Rainer. She loved him. That hopeless knowledge haunted her, filling her with sorrow. Even so, she didn’t regret her feelings.
It was a moment out of time and she knew he savored it every bit as much. The afternoon flew by. They rode the trolley cars, strolled through Myrtle Edwards Park, and sat in the grass, watching the ferries make their leisurely way back and forth across Puget Sound.
After a spaghetti dinner they headed for Pier 52 and boarded the ferry for Bainbridge Island. The moon, still full and benevolent, glowed down on them as they stood in the bow. Jordan huddled in the protective warmth of Rainer’s arms. There was no place on earth she’d rather be.
He reached into his pocket and to her astonishment pulled out the gold tomato charm. Without a word, he fastened it around her neck. Then he kissed her, with only the moon and the stars looking on. Jordan knew she’d remember that moment for the rest of her life.
The ferry returned them to Seattle just after midnight, and they called it a day. Walking arm in arm, Jordan snuggled against Rainer, touching her charm with gentle fingers.
“I’ll meet you at Constantine’s,” Rainer confirmed on the drive home. “You’re going to be beat. I almost regret keeping you out so late.” He pulled in front of her house and switched off the engine.
“I don’t.” She slid closer to him, wrapping her arms about his neck. “I can sleep any time.”
T he days flew by. All Jordan could think about was Rainer, the swift passage of time, and the threat that stood between them. She worried constantly and slept little. She knew it showed in both the darkening circles beneath her eyes and in her forced cheerfulness.
She had to find a way out of this mess. She clutched her tomato charm as though for inspiration. If only she had an angle. Just one. But nothing came to her.
Releasing the charm, she pushed her hair from her face and looked around. At least setup continued to go smoothly. That should count for something. The employees rarely fought, Uncle Cletus hadn’t mentioned politics in days, and Walker actually smiled. So why couldn’t she be satisfied with that?
Rainer’s voice interrupted her musing. “Jordan, did you hear what I said?”
She looked at him blankly. “What?”
“I said, there’s a huge crowd gathering outside. What gives?”
It took her several moments to understand what he meant. Finally, clasping her by the shoulders, he steered her to the front of the store. There she found an ever-growing line of customers waiting impatiently for Cornucopia to open.
“Oh. It must be Wednesday. Our ad broke today.”
“What ad?”
“We decided to run some ads to see if we couldn’t—”
“Circumvent the Thorsen threat?” he suggested.
She smiled weakly. “Something like that.” She glanced at the crowd, a small frown wrinkling her brow. “I know we have some good prices, but this is better than I ever dreamed. Okay, everybody,” she called out. “Let’s get ready. We’re going to be very busy this morning.”
She opened the door to a veritable tidal wave of people. Knowing Michelle and Uncle Cletus couldn’t handle the registers on their own, she manned a third one. Within minutes a woman she’d never served before approached her counter, two baskets in hand, one overflowing with grapes, the other with nectarines.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw your ad this morning,” she gasped, setting down her burden. “I decided to give your store a try and rushed right over before you ran out.”
Jordan smiled. “Not much chance of that.”
She glanced at the woman’s basket, a little disappointed to see it contained only sale items. She wished she could have tempted her new customer with a few things not on special. Jordan brightened. Maybe the woman would come again. Maybe she’d start coming on a regular basis.
“I’m glad you’re pleased with us,” Jordan said with a friendly smile. She pulled out the plastic bags filled with grapes. “I thought ninety-nine cents a pound on these would be an excellent buy.”
The woman laughed. “Sure it would. But offering them at nineteen cents a pound is an unbeatable one.”
Jordan stared at her. “What?”
“Nineteen cents a pound,” the woman repeated, her voice rising a notch. “That’s what your ad says.” She reached into her purse and whipped out a newspaper, spreading it open to the appropriate page. She thumped a stubby finger against the bold print.
“It’s right here in black and white. Grapes. Nineteen cents a pound. Nectarines. Twenty-nine cents a pound. Tomatoes. Ten cents a pound.” The woman directed a stony look at Jordan. “If I didn’t grow my own tomatoes, I’d have a basketful of those, as well.”
The newspaper blurred before Jordan’s eyes and a dawning sense of disbelief and dread crept over her. The ad. The ad Uncle Cletus took care of for her so she co
uld go out with Rainer. The ad she was supposed to check—and hadn’t because she’d been so distracted by Rainer.
“Th-there must be some mistake,” Jordan stuttered.
“There sure is if you don’t plan on honoring your ad prices,” the woman agreed, her voice rising another notch. Several of the customers stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at the commotion. “You are going to honor your own ad, aren’t you? I don’t think you’ll be in business much longer if you don’t.”
The store grew rapidly quieter. Jordan slipped her hands under the counter and balled them into tight fists to control their shaking.
“Of course we honor our ads. I—I was just surprised there’d be such interest,” she lied valiantly.
Rainer came to stand beside her. “What’s up?” he murmured.
“Everything’s fine,” she replied in an undertone, reaching for her charm. “There’s been a small mix up with the ad.”
He gave her a long hard look. “What can I do?”
“Keep us stocked.” A tiny break in her voice betrayed her anxiety. She knew Rainer noticed, but he didn’t say anything. With a quick nod, he headed for the cooler, calling to Andy and Leroy.
Jordan struggled to keep her panic at bay. What was she going to do? Thinking about the amount of money they stood to lose horrified her. She quickly added up the woman’s purchases, and the next woman’s—once again only ad items—and slipped the piddling amount of money she received into the cash drawer. Within an hour, she realized demand would far outstrip their inventory.
“Andy,” she called. “Take over the register.” She hurried to the rear of the store where Rainer and Leroy and Walker worked as hard and fast as they could to keep everything stocked. “I’ve got to make a run to Constantine’s,” she explained, avoiding Rainer’s gaze.
“No,” he insisted. “What you have to do is stop this nonsense, now, before it’s too late. We can put up signs, explaining the newspaper made an error. People will understand.”
She lifted her head and looked him straight in the eye. “The newspaper didn’t make a mistake,” she said. “I did.” And it was the truth. Not checking the ad had been her error. “I have a reputation to maintain, which means I honor our ad and keep us fully stocked, no matter the cost.”
Without another word, she escaped the store and climbed into her truck. For a brief moment, she rested her head against the steering wheel, the enormity of her situation threatening to overwhelm her. How would she get out of this mess? Fumbling for her charm again, she stiffened her spine. Somehow she’d work her way out, just as she always did.
Yanking out the choke, she fired up the truck. She had a job to do.
Chapter 9
A t the close of business Wednesday evening, Jordan looked around at the shambles once known as Cornucopia. Never, in all the fifty years of its existence, had it been in such a state. Bitter awareness filled her, and the muscles in her jaw tightened. By putting her own concerns first, she’d let the family down. It was her responsibility to protect the store, and she’d failed, all because she’d put her own desires ahead of family.
She’d always thought of Cornucopia as her past, as well as her future. She smiled without humor. It didn’t look like much of a future now.
Her gaze shifted across the room. She took in the ripped table skirts, the mangled grapes and stems scattered on the floor, the pile of bruised nectarines, and the sagging tomato table. She groaned. The tomato table—built with her father’s own two hands—had actually broken beneath the press of customers and the weight of vegetables. Fortunately, Rainer managed to shore it up. Temporarily. She shut her eyes, unable to look further.
This . . . this ruin represented the Roberts name. And she’d disgraced it. If she’d given more thought—or even a single thought—to Cornucopia’s needs instead of her own, this wouldn’t have happened. But instead, she’d been caught up in her passion and desire for Rainer. Thoughts of him dominated every waking and sleeping moment. She’d gotten her priorities mixed, and this was the result.
She glanced over at Leroy and Andy and Michelle. They were so exhausted they could barely stand. It only added to her guilt. “Come on back to the lunchroom,” she told them. “I have sodas in the fridge. Help yourselves.”
They exchanged disheartened looks, then nodded reluctantly, trooping in unison to the back of the store. She’d better come up with something fast, or there’d be three less employees tomorrow. These kids didn’t look like they could handle one more day like today, let alone three. Her head dropped forward. If only she weren’t so bone weary. If only she could think straight.
Coward! she taunted. Spineless wonder! If she couldn’t face life’s occasional adversities, then she didn’t deserve Cornucopia. Time to get up and fight, or give it up and go slither under some rock.
It took a full thirty seconds of concentrated effort to force her muscles to obey her silent commands. Gritting her teeth, she threw back her shoulders and stood straight. It took an additional thirty seconds to smooth her hair, adjust her wrinkled clothing, and affix a decisive I’m-in-charge-and-can-handle-this expression on her face. She managed.
Barely.
Jordan walked into the lunchroom and gazed at her war-weary troops. The three younger employees sat slumped over the table, nursing sodas. Walker, his mouth sagging open, snoozed in a corner. Uncle Cletus leaned against the wall, his face a sickly shade of gray. She took a deep breath, forcing a cheerful note into her voice.
“Well, I’ve got some good news and some bad news.” Moans met her statement.
She crossed the room to the refrigerator, helping herself to a cola. Thank goodness for caffeine! She popped open the lid and took a deep swallow. “Why don’t we get the bad news over with first,” she said with a bright smile.
“We’re all fired and you’re giving us two weeks’ severance pay?” Andy suggested hopefully.
“’Fraid not.” Rainer walked in and assumed a stance by the door. It took all her concentration to ignore him and continue speaking. “The bad news is the ad prices in today’s paper don’t expire until Saturday. We can expect three more days like today.”
“Three?” Michelle repeated in alarm. She swallowed, rallying with an effort. “We can survive that, can’t we?”
“Yeah,” muttered Andy and Leroy in unison, though they sounded far from positive.
Jordan winced. If only they didn’t look so crushed. She didn’t think she’d lose her employees, but they deserved better than this. Desperate times called for desperate measures. “The good news is you’ll all get a bonus for those three days.”
That seemed to cheer them. Then Michelle glanced at the other two and whispered something beneath her breath. Andy and Leroy nodded. “Forget it,” she said. “It’s nice of you to offer, but you don’t have to pay us extra. We’ve decided and we’re with you on this. You know—ups and downs, good and bad, awful and worse.”
Tears pricked Jordan’s eyes. “Thanks,” she murmured. “You guys are the best.”
Rainer shifted and she peeked at him through lowered lashes. He stood, expressionless, a shoulder propped against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest. The Viking at his Viking-est. Disapproval, clear and powerful, radiated from him. To her surprise, he remained silent.
Jordan returned her attention to her employees. “Thanks for understanding. We’ll discuss this further another time.” She touched Michelle’s shoulder. “Why don’t you three take off. Be back bright and early tomorrow. It’s going to be a rough few days.”
Apparently, they agreed. They rose in unison and headed out the door, murmuring among themselves.
Uncle Cletus shifted in his chair, She’d never seen him so uncomfortable. “Looks like we’ve gotten ourselves in a bit of a pickle. Can we handle it?”
“Of course we can handle it.” She tried for an encouraging sm
ile. “We’ll manage just fine.”
“This is all my fault,” he fussed. “I don’t understand what went wrong.”
Jordan attempted to reassure him. “It’s all right, Uncle Cletus. I guess I didn’t make the numbers clear enough.”
“Clear,” Walker said, now wide awake. “Very clear.”
Uncle Cletus fidgeted nervously, rubbing a hand across his bald spot. “Walker’s right,” he admitted. “Your numbers were clear enough. It was just . . .” His face puckered in a frown. “You said we should run loser ads. Ninety-nine cents a pound for grapes wasn’t much of a loser. So I thought if we could get more customers by dropping our prices a little . . .” His voice trailed off miserably.
Jordan shut her eyes. Oh, Uncle Cletus, what have you done? He wanted to help, that’s all, she tried to convince herself. Unfortunately, his business acumen had gone downhill since his stroke. She knew that. She should have protected him.
“Forget it,” she said. “Things aren’t all that bad. Andrea promised to sell us the ad items at cost, which should help. And we don’t know how many new customers we might have gained.”
Renewed hope drifted into Cletus’s eyes. “It’ll all work out, won’t it?”
“Of course it will,” she reassured. “We may have to tighten our belts a little, but it isn’t anything we can’t handle, given time.”
“Tighten our belts?” Cletus repeated in dismay. He rose to his feet, his expression one of bewilderment. “But I wear suspenders.”
Jordan bit her tongue. “Why don’t you and Walker head to the house and have a game of checkers,” she suggested. “I’ve got a few things to do around here, and then I’ll be over. Okay?”
“I’ll do that,” he said. The two men left together, Uncle Cletus muttering to himself about loosening belts and tightening suspenders.
Rainer pushed away from the doorjamb before she could make good her escape, blocking the exit. “We’ve got a few things to discuss,” he said.
She had a fair idea what those few things might comprise. No way did she intend to discuss any of them. “I have work to do. It’ll have to wait.” She attempted to brush by him and he caught her arm.