Nordic Heroes: In the Market and a Wholesale Arrangement

by Day Leclaire

  “I do.” She might regret his choice, but she’d respect it. “You should also know I never have and I never will blame you for my father’s accident. You’ve been a vital part of Cornucopia, whether you recognize that fact or not. Without you, it wouldn’t have existed.”

  “But the Thorsens. They’ll keep Cornucopia going.”

  Jordan laughed in genuine amusement. “After a fashion, I suppose. But as you’ve said, Cornucopia is nothing without a Roberts at the helm. They’ll find that out soon enough.” And when they did, she’d be right there to pitch in, if they’d allow it.

  Her uncle looked utterly confused. “But you and Rainer—”

  “Yes, let’s discuss Rainer. How the heck did he convince you to sell?”

  “He didn’t precisely convince me. I decided I’d better sell once I realized you and Rainer were getting married. I know nothing’s been officially announced, but I do have eyes. Even Walker noticed. And for him to notice anything that doesn’t pop up out of the earth or get picked off a tree or bush . . . well!”

  “What do you mean Rainer and I are getting married?” she cut in, determined to bring him back to that most salient point.

  He gave her a reproving look. “I’m a traditional man. Rainer’s father, Alaric, is a traditional man. At least he was when I knew him. And I’m sure Alaric’s sons are also traditional men. Traditional men do not roll around in the grass without . . . without there being a traditional reason.”

  Try lust, she almost said aloud. “You mean marriage,” she said instead.

  “Exactly! Marriage. And since you and Rainer will get married, I had to act.” He gave an abashed shrug. “Listen, my dear, I wouldn’t know how to tighten a belt, even if I wore one. Once Andrea told Nick about our little money problem—”

  “Andrea told Nick about it?” Jordan exclaimed in disbelief.

  “Nick called me. Apologized. Said he’d given her a hard time about selling us produce at cost. But once he heard about our problem, he said he’d be delighted to help out. Unfortunately, he needed us to pay with cash from now on, same as everybody else.”

  “Naturally,” she said dryly. And she’d blamed Rainer. Maybe if she’d discussed things more thoroughly with Andrea, she wouldn’t have jumped to the wrong conclusion.

  “Anyway,” Cletus continued, “I’ll be darned if I’m going to leave Cornucopia to you without getting so much as a chicken ranch out of it. Because when you marry Rainer, that’s precisely what will happen. The Thorsens will get their hands on Cornucopia for nothing, and I won’t get to retire to New Mexico with my chickens.”

  “Arizona,” she reminded him, acknowledging the element of twisted logic in his reasoning.

  “Exactly.”

  Dear, sweet Uncle Cletus—ever the optimist. Things might have worked out the way he thought, but not anymore. Now she’d be lucky if Rainer ever spoke to her again. She forced a smile to her lips. “I understand why you sold, and you’re right. You deserve your chicken ranch.”

  “You don’t think it’s dishonest?” he asked a shade nervously. “The Thorsens can spare the money and then some.”

  “It’s not dishonest,” she reassured him. “It’s good sound business.” And wouldn’t Thor laugh himself silly if he heard.

  “You’re not mad at me?”

  She threw her arms around her uncle’s neck and gave him a fierce hug. “How could I ever be mad at you? We’re family.”

  And it was the truth.

  M uch later she wandered through Cornucopia, unable to resist saying a final farewell to the family market. She ran a hand over the trestle tabletops, frowning at a small jagged tear in the gingham skirt. She’d have to fix that. She caught herself. No, the Thorsens would have to fix that. It wasn’t her concern any longer.

  She glanced around the store. What changes would they make? Not the kids corner. Rainer knew how important that was. And the family pictures . . . She crossed the room and stood in front of fifty years’ worth of memories. Once she owned Cornucopia, she’d always planned to have her picture taken and hung beside all the others. It hurt, knowing it would never happen. It hurt a lot.

  Even so, she’d come to realize she could let go of the store. With regret, true, but she’d survive. What she couldn’t survive was losing Rainer. She’d probably ruined any possibility of a relationship with him by being unable to give him the faith she’d given her uncle. He had it now, if it wasn’t too late.

  She frowned. There had to be a workable resolution. An angle. There had to be an angle. If only she could figure what would work best. She sighed, her shoulders sagging a little. No angle, she realized. The time for angles was past. She stuck a hand in her right pocket, her fingers closing around her double-headed nickel. It would take more than a coin toss to pull this one off.

  She stopped in her tracks. Or would it? Perhaps she had one angle left, after all.

  I t took less than thirty minutes to drive back to Thorsen’s home office. She parked and raced down the sidewalk, up the three flights of stairs and past the startled receptionist to Rainer’s office. She pounded on his door.

  “He’s not there,” Thor said from behind her.

  She turned. “Where is he?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  Jordan advanced on him. “I’ll go around you, through you, even under you if I have to. I’ll search this market and every other Thorsen market until I find him. And I won’t be quiet about it, either. That man has met his match and I’m here to let him know it.”

  His lips twitched. “Ah, the Valkyrie has finally awakened. Have you come to sweep your warrior off to Valhalla?”

  “To Valhalla, Walla Walla, or Timbuktu. Do you move, or do I move you?”

  Without another word, he stepped to one side, waiting until she’d passed him before adding, “He’s downstairs. And fair warning, warrior maiden—” She glanced over her shoulder and lifted an eyebrow in question. “He’s very angry.”

  Angry. Fine. At least he wasn’t indifferent. Angry meant he cared. Angry she could handle. Maybe.

  She saw him the moment she entered the store. The number of customers and the hectic pace of business amazed her, but through all the confusion, she instantly zeroed in on Rainer.

  He’d changed into the more familiar jeans and T-shirt, laboring harder and faster than anyone around. His muscles rippled, a faint film of perspiration evident beneath the thin cotton shirt. Shaking her head, she watched him swing a hundred-pound sack of potatoes onto his shoulder and carry it to the spud rack. It reminded Jordan of her grandfather, and she experienced the same awe, mixed with a sharp sense of pride.

  And desire.

  This was her man. Now to convince Rainer of that fact.

  She caught him by the tomato display. He didn’t turn at her approach, but the muscles in his back stiffen the instant he sensed her presence.

  “What do you want?” he snapped, not pausing a beat as he yanked the wooden slats off the top of a tomato crate.

  “I was wrong, you were right, and I’m sorry.”

  “So I’m not the bad guy anymore, is that it?” He glanced at her, and she nearly flinched at the coldness of his gaze. “You toss out a quick apology and that makes everything all right?”

  “No, not all right. But it’s a place for us to start, a place to go from.”

  He gave a short humorless laugh. “You’re taking a lot for granted.”

  She pushed aside her alarm, refusing to show the doubt and uncertainty surging through her. Did he love her? Perhaps she had assumed too much. Either way, it didn’t matter. She loved him, and she’d risk everything on that fact alone. “You won’t get rid of me that easily,” she warned.

  He shot her a fierce look. “Because of Cornucopia, you mean? It all comes back to that, doesn’t it?”

  “Forget Cornucopia! I don’t care about Cornucopia
.”

  He dumped the tomatoes into the bin with careless disregard. “Yeah, right. Now tell me something I can believe.”

  She balled her hands into fists, refusing to give up. “I didn’t come here because of the store. I came because you need me in your life. And I need you in mine.” She gazed at him, willing him to hear the sincerity in her voice. “Darn it, Rainer. I love you.” She reached inside her shirt and pulled out the tomato charm hanging around her neck. “Do I keep this, or do I return it? Do you love me, or not?”

  Fury exploded deep in his eyes—the blue hard and clear as splintered glass. With a muffled oath, he grabbed her around the waist. “Love you? You don’t care about love. This is just an excuse to get your hands on that damned market. Well, here’s what you can do with Cornucopia.” He picked her up, dropping her down onto the display of ripe, juicy Lycopersicon esculentum . “Make love to that.”

  Tomatoes burst beneath her, the warm juice oozing up around her. The rich fragrance of L’air du Tomate wafted between them. In truth, she was afraid to move. Wide-eyed she stared at the man she loved, knowing she had to act, aware it was now or never.

  Ignoring the horrified gasps from the nearby customers, ignoring the sticky wetness spreading beneath her, and ignoring her somewhat tacky position, she grabbed the front of Rainer’s shirt and hung on for dear life. “You haven’t answered my question,” she announced in a loud clear voice.

  “What question?”

  “Do you love me?”

  He glared at her. “Why should I answer? How do I know you don’t want me because I own Cornucopia?” He tossed her words back at her. “How do I know you’re not romancing me for my store?”

  He’d turned the tables on her fair and square. She took a deep breath, praying her only remaining angle would work. “You don’t. You’ll have to trust me . . . Or we can flip a coin and settle it once and for all.” She held her breath, nerves transforming her stomach into a toxic wasteland.

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Jordan leaned back and shoved her hand into her left pocket, squashed tomatoes sticking to her shirt. She yanked out her nickel.

  “We’re going to settle our problems with a double-headed coin again?” he said scornfully. “That won’t solve a thing. All I have to do is pick heads and I win every time.”

  “Trust, remember? You asked me for trust, and now I’m asking it of you. Heads, I only want you for Cornucopia. Tails I want you because I love you.” With a quick flick of her thumbnail, she sent the coin spinning high above them.

  Rainer caught it midspin. “Tails,” he said, white-faced, the coin buried in his fist. “It’s tails.”

  “Look at it,” Jordan whispered. “Look.”

  Slowly his hand unclenched and he stared at the coin.

  “It doesn’t matter which side comes up,” she whispered. “It’s all the same. I love you, not Cornucopia.”

  He hesitated for a long minute, then carefully turned the nickel over. In the next instant he swept her into his arms—tomatoes and all—the double-tailed coin tumbling heedlessly to the ground.

  “I love you, Jordan Roberts,” he declared for all the world to hear. “You are my life and my love. I want you by my side for the rest of our days on this earth. What do you have to say about that?”

  She laughed, running her hands up the sides of his face, her fingers lingering on his lightning bolt earring. “Haven’t you told me over and over you always get what you want? Well, Viking, now you have me. Are you going to make an honest woman of me, or will I need to bribe you with a love apple?”

  He buried his hands in her dark hair. “Bribe me now, Valkyrie. Then you’ll have to marry me.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her, hoisting her out of the tomato bin. Squashed tomatoes plopped to the floor at their feet, a stream of red juice puddling around them.

  Throughout the store, the customers cheered and went back to their shopping with happy smiles. All except one portly old man.

  “Hmph!” he muttered. “If they think I’m paying a plugged nickel for those tomatoes, they’d better think again!”

  Epilogue

  “ W e don’t have much longer, Mrs. Thorsen,” the photographer announced, glancing at the darkening September sky. “If we don’t get this shot taken soon, the light will be all wrong.”

  Jordan’s brows drew together. She’d waited a lot of years for this day to arrive, and she didn’t want anything to spoil it. “Give it one more minute. I’m sure they’ll be right out.” She stood by the market entrance. “Hurry up in there!”

  Rainer joined her. “Take it easy love. We’re coming.”

  She shifted impatiently. “You know how important this picture is to me. I want it to be perfect.”

  “Yes, Valkyrie. I do know,” he said, and kissed her.

  Jordan relaxed against him, the tension draining away, just as she did every time he used that particular method of calming her. A tiny, satisfied smile spread across her mouth, even as color darkened her cheeks.

  She’d never been happier than during the past twelve months. Tomorrow would be their first anniversary. Tears misted her eyes. Day by day, their lives melded and solidified while their love and happiness gained in strength.

  Rainer stroked her cheek with a gentle finger. “You cry a lot. It worries me.”

  “Don’t let it.” She snuggled against him and grasped her tomato charm in a now familiar gesture. “You know it’s from happiness.”

  The photographer cleared his throat. “Mrs. Thorsen? You about ready?”

  She sighed. “Almost. I think. We’ll want our new sign in the photo. Can you do that?”

  “No problem.” He glanced at the bright white-and-green placard. “Cornucopia I, huh? You guys must be expanding.”

  Rainer grinned proudly. “Sure are.” He winked at his wife. “And in more ways than one, come the end of next month.”

  Jordan lifted her chin. “Tomorrow Cornucopia III opens farther north, in Lake City,” she announced. “Of course it can’t compare to the original.”

  Rainer’s hold tightened. “Nothing can compare to that,” he murmured.

  The photographer frowned. “The light’s almost gone. We can’t wait any longer.”

  “Where’s Uncle Cletus?” Jordan muttered anxiously. “We can’t take the picture without him.”

  Right on cue, her uncle appeared in the doorway. “I’m coming. I’m coming. What’s all the rhubarb? Can’t an old man have a quiet game of checkers without all these interruptions. I should have retired to my chicken ranch in New Mexico like I wanted, instead of letting you talk me out of it.”

  “Arizona, Uncle Cletus,” Jordan and Rainer corrected in unison.

  Cletus snorted. “Whatever. I was winning, you know. Three more moves and I’d have done it.”

  “Six,” came the grumbling retort. Walker poked his head from behind Cletus, a pineapple in one hand, an eggplant in the other. He looked at Jordan. “Me, too?” he asked in a hopeful voice.

  Before Uncle Cletus could say a word, Jordan took Walker firmly by the arm and pulled him into the warmth of their circle. “You, too,” she said. “This picture is history. And history has to be accurate. Which means it’s going to have all the family.” She laid a gentle hand on her well-rounded stomach, smiling with satisfaction and a deep contentment. “And with any luck, we’ll soon need a bigger picture wall. A much bigger wall.”

  The End

  Epilogue

  “ W e don’t have much longer, Mrs. Thorsen,” the photographer announced, glancing at the darkening September sky. “If we don’t get this shot taken soon, the light will be all wrong.”

  Jordan’s brows drew together. She’d waited a lot of years for this day to arrive, and she didn’t want anything to spoil it. “Give it one more minute. I’m sure they’ll be right
out.” She stood by the market entrance. “Hurry up in there!”

  Rainer joined her. “Take it easy love. We’re coming.”

  She shifted impatiently. “You know how important this picture is to me. I want it to be perfect.”

  “Yes, Valkyrie. I do know,” he said, and kissed her.

  Jordan relaxed against him, the tension draining away, just as she did every time he used that particular method of calming her. A tiny, satisfied smile spread across her mouth, even as color darkened her cheeks.

  She’d never been happier than during the past twelve months. Tomorrow would be their first anniversary. Tears misted her eyes. Day by day, their lives melded and solidified while their love and happiness gained in strength.

  Rainer stroked her cheek with a gentle finger. “You cry a lot. It worries me.”

  “Don’t let it.” She snuggled against him and grasped her tomato charm in a now familiar gesture. “You know it’s from happiness.”

  The photographer cleared his throat. “Mrs. Thorsen? You about ready?”

  She sighed. “Almost. I think. We’ll want our new sign in the photo. Can you do that?”

  “No problem.” He glanced at the bright white-and-green placard. “Cornucopia I, huh? You guys must be expanding.”

  Rainer grinned proudly. “Sure are.” He winked at his wife. “And in more ways than one, come the end of next month.”

  Jordan lifted her chin. “Tomorrow Cornucopia III opens farther north, in Lake City,” she announced. “Of course it can’t compare to the original.”

  Rainer’s hold tightened. “Nothing can compare to that,” he murmured.

  The photographer frowned. “The light’s almost gone. We can’t wait any longer.”

  “Where’s Uncle Cletus?” Jordan muttered anxiously. “We can’t take the picture without him.”

  Right on cue, her uncle appeared in the doorway. “I’m coming. I’m coming. What’s all the rhubarb? Can’t an old man have a quiet game of checkers without all these interruptions. I should have retired to my chicken ranch in New Mexico like I wanted, instead of letting you talk me out of it.”