Nordic Heroes: In the Market and a Wholesale Arrangement (10 page)

“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 in 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.”

Brita shot her a knowing look, but all she said was, “He hasn’t found the right woman. We’ll know when he does.”

She pulled mugs out of the cupboard and set them on the counter, dropping a tea bag in each.

Jordan resisted as long as she could. “How?” she asked fatalistically.

“He always said he’d stay single until he found an honest-to-goodness Valkyrie. That’s a—”

“Warrior maiden. I know.” Her brain went into overdrive analyzing the implication.

“Do you now,” Brita murmured. “How interesting. And do you also know the legend behind the Valkyries?” Jordan shook her head. “They’re actually Odin’s maids. He’s the Norse god who, according to legend, created the world. Whenever humans fought a battle, the Valkyries swooped down in all their armored glory. They determined which warriors were destined to fall in battle and carried off those who died bravely to join Odin in Valhalla, the Hall of the Slain.”

Jordan was enthralled. “And?”

Brita wrinkled her nose, pouring steaming water into the mugs. “And the Valkyries waited on the fallen warriors, feeding and bringing them drink. Mortal men considered it quite an honor to marry a Valkyrie. I think Rainer liked the tale because his name—”

“Means warrior. Yes. He told me.” She frowned, pondering Brita’s words. The Valkyries had the power of life or death over the warriors. Could that be why Rainer intended to marry a modern day Valkyrie? Because she would have the power of life or death over his love? It was a romantic notion and made her see Rainer in a whole new light. Charming. Ruthless. And now romantic. The pieces made a very confusing—and intriguing—whole.

“So,” the petite blonde said, handing Jordan a mug and changing the subject. “I understand you have a produce market, too. We literally live, breathe, and eat this business, don’t we?”

Jordan grinned. “You’d think I’d get tired of it.” She shrugged. “Sometimes I think it’s in the blood.”

“I guess you’ll get plenty of rest from it soon enough.” Brita leaned a hip against the counter and sipped the hot tea. “What will you do when Cornucopia is sold?”

Jordan stared at her, stunned. Before she could disabuse the woman of her totally erroneous notion and in no uncertain terms, Rainer’s voice came from behind.

“Wrong question, sister dear,” he said wryly. “The lady isn’t convinced she wants to sell. That’s the point of our visit.”

“Oops.” Brita turned an engaging grin in Jordan’s direction. “Sorry. I didn’t realize. Kevin gave me the impression Rainer had it in the bag.”

“Did he?” Jordan glared at him.

Brita laughed, not noticing anything amiss. “Let me warn you. My brother always gets what he wants. He never loses.”

Jordan stiffened. She’d gotten tired of hearing that. Very tired. “Then this will be a first,” she said in a cold voice.

Brita’s grin faded. She glanced from one to the other, and understanding dawned. To Jordan’s alarm, a hint of compassion showed in her light blue eyes. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

This time her words weren’t an apology. This time they acknowledged the inevitability of Rainer’s winning—and Jordan knew 
it.

T
he next hour passed with torturous sluggishness. Sitting and talking with Brita and Kevin as though nothing had happened strained Jordan’s tolerance to the limit. At long last their time together ended. With cordial farewells, Rainer ushered her out of Thorsen’s South and back into his car.

“I have the feeling your sister knows something I don’t,” Jordan said abruptly.

Rainer started the engine and glanced at her, leaving the car in park. “She does.”

He said it with a calmness and finality that made her want to shriek in protest. Instead, she strove to sound equally composed. “She thinks you’re going to win, doesn’t she?”

His voice didn’t change inflection. “She knows me.”

That didn’t mean she was right, Jordan wanted to say. Lots of younger sisters idolized their older brothers. Again she saw that flash of sympathy in Brita’s light eyes and winced. Okay. So she had a major fight ahead of her. That didn’t come as any surprise.

Rainer set the car in motion and headed north toward Seattle. The sun peeked through the last of the storm clouds, and everything shone with a clean fresh-washed clarity. If only she could have such clarity in her own life. Thanks to the man at her side, things were about as clear as mud.

“So, where next?” she asked.

“Several fast stops at a number of our markets. Part of my job is to check with each store and see how everything looks. Basically, what you did at Thorsen’s South.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you went through the store, didn’t you compare prices and quality with Cornucopia?” She nodded, and he continued, “You looked at the size and types of displays, how well we’d stocked each item, and how we’d chosen to arrange the produce. I’ll bet you even peeked in the cooler.”

“I couldn’t resist,” she admitted. “They do a good job. It’s clean and attractive. The only problem I noticed—” She stopped, aware Rainer might misconstrue her comment.

“Go on,” he prompted.

Dare she be honest? Might as well. He could take it. And if he couldn’t? She shrugged. Too bad. “The traffic flow missed your back left corner. It’s cut off from the rest of the store.”

To her relief, Rainer seemed pleased by her observation. “Very good,” he approved. “Kevin and I were just discussing that. They recently put in new refrigeration units and redesigned the store’s layout to accommodate them.”

“If they move the greens against the wall and build an island for the berries, that should take care of it,” she suggested diffidently.

He stopped at a red light and turned in his seat. Before she could discern his intention, he leaned over and kissed her. “We think alike, you and I. We should work together more often,” he said, his mouth inches away. His eyes darkened. “We should do this more often, too.”

He kissed her again, his mouth hard and warm and demanding. She didn’t resist. It didn’t even occur to her. His kiss felt too good. Worse, it felt right. A horn blaring from behind brought them both to their senses. With a muttered word of regret, Rainer drove on.

They stopped at four more markets and followed the same procedure at each. She and Rainer walked through the store, discussing the good points and bad. Each time he’d ask her opinion, and each time she felt more and more comfortable offering it.

To her chagrin, she discovered Rainer’s relatives managed the Thorsen stores, his family, it would seem, equal parts prolific and ruthless. Not only that, every one of them had heard of her and knew what Rainer wanted. Judging by the smiles and joking comments, they didn’t think it was Cornucopia alone.

“Next stop, my parents’ home,” Rainer announced shortly after noon. Jordan couldn’t decide whether to feel curious or wary. To her surprise, he drove them to Magnolia, a beautiful hilltop community just outside Seattle and within a stone’s throw of Cornucopia.

“They’ve lived here for years,” he explained, pulling into the driveway of a huge sprawling estate. “I thought you’d prefer meeting everyone in less businesslike surroundings.”

Jordan glanced across the vast green lawn toward the dozens of children and adults milling about. “Are all these people relatives?” she asked, taken aback.

“Mostly. Cousins, aunts, uncles, with a number of employees thrown in for balance. Mom and Dad encourage everyone to visit Friday afternoons. We talk business and hash out problems. A lot of the kids spend the day at the stores with their parents, so this gives them an opportunity to run around and release pent-up energy.”

“So many,” she marveled, a hint of envy creeping into her voice. How she longed to be part of a family this size. Watching the enthusiastic crowd gave her a vague sensation of loss and regret.

“Let me introduce you around.” He smiled, a tender light in his eyes.

Did he suspect how she felt? After this morning’s conversation, he must. “I’ll never remember everybody,” she warned.

“Don’t try. When in doubt, just throw out a Norwegian name. You’re bound to get at least one response.”

She gave him a wry look. “That’s presuming I know any Norwegian names.”

His voice dropped to a seductive murmur. “You know mine. That’s all that counts.” He pointed to a tall handsome woman. “There’s my mother. Come on. You’ll like her.”

“Call me Sonja,” the youthful hazel-eyed woman requested. “If you call me Mrs. Thorsen, you’ll have at least a dozen women answering.” She gestured toward the back of the house. “There’s iced tea on the patio. Why don’t we sit there?”