Nordic Heroes: In the Market and a Wholesale Arrangement (22 page)

Darn it all! She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. Just what she needed, to be caught wandering the halls of Thorsen’s sobbing her eyes out.

The door beside her opened. To her fury and frustration, Thor stepped out. He took one look, gripped her elbow and pulled her, protesting all the way, into his office. He tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.

“Stop arguing and use this,” he ordered briskly. “I assume you tried to give Rainer a hard time and came away the worse for wear.”

“In your dreams,” she muttered rudely.

“No doubt. However, I’m not the one in love with you. Rainer is. Just as you’re in love with him.” He waited for his words to sink in, cutting cleanly across her objections. “Don’t bother to debate the issue. There’s nothing to debate, at least about that.”

Her mouth settled into a stubborn line. “I’m not discussing Cornucopia or Uncle Cletus with you.”

He lifted a single tawny eyebrow. “Wrong again.” He pushed her into a chair and settled onto the edge of his desk, staring at her. “You refuse to face facts, Ms. Roberts. Perhaps it’s a character flaw on your part. I don’t know. But this is one fact you must face. Your uncle is not a businessman, and therefore he shouldn’t attempt to run a business.”

“Thanks to you, he doesn’t,” she couldn’t resist pointing out.

He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “As for you, Cornucopia cannot be and should not be a substitute for love or for a family. Or for life.”

“It’s not a substitute, it’s a representation of those things,” Jordan disputed without conviction. How could she argue with him when he repeated the very same conclusions she’d drawn the day before?

“It’s a business,” he contradicted firmly. “That’s all. And there’s life beyond business.” An actual smile touched his broad mouth. “Even I know that.”

The fight leeched from her and she stared at him, nonplussed. Why had Andrea ever let this man escape? It could only have been temporary insanity. “You’re right,” she conceded with a sigh.

He reached out and touched the hand holding his damp handkerchief. “Don’t sacrifice your life for Cornucopia. It’s not worth it.”

“Anything else?”

He studied her for a moment longer, his smile turning gentle. “No,” he said at last. Rising, he walked her to the door. “I’ll escort you to the elevator.”

She didn’t protest, she knew futile when she saw it. They waited in silence for the elevator. The instant the doors parted, Jordan stepped in, jabbing at the first floor button. The doors started to slide closed, but Thor stopped them at the last instant.

“There’s nothing you can do to change what’s happened,” he said. “But you don’t have to lose both Cornucopia and Rainer. He’s not responsible for your situation.” He removed his hand from the elevator door. “Your uncle is. Talk to him.”

S
he mulled over Thor’s words the entire way home. She also thought about her conversation with Rainer. One thing came home loud and clear. Cornucopia wasn’t hers. It never had been. As much as that fact hurt, the time had come to face it.

Uncle Cletus had sold out. And only he could tell her why.

She slowed as she passed Cornucopia. The store sat in darkness, a large sign on the door proclaiming a grand reopening scheduled for the following week. Her lips tightened. The Thorsens worked fast.

Parking the truck in front of the house, she hopped out and ran up the steps of the porch, shoving open the front door. “Uncle Cletus!” she called. “Where are you?”

“In here,” came the muffled response.

Jordan stepped into the darkened living room, frowning in concern. She flicked on the overhead light. Uncle Cletus sat in his favorite chair, the checkerboard in front of him set up with nectarines and plums. He’d half eaten one of his men.

“Why are you sitting here like this?”

“You know, don’t you,” he stated quietly. “You know I sold Cornucopia.”

Jordan crossed the room to his side and knelt by his chair. “Yes.” She took his gnarled hand in hers and gently squeezed. “Tell me about it, Uncle Cletus. Tell me why you sold.”

“I had to.” She heard the plea in his words, and the gray eyes he turned on her were dark and sad. “You have to believe me, girl. I didn’t have a choice.”

“I believe you.” And she did.

“It . . . it has to do with your father,” he began. He glanced at her hesitantly. “And the . . . the accident.”

Jordan froze, not anticipating such a response. What could her father’s death have to do with the Thorsens? “What are you talking about, Uncle Cletus?”

“It was my fault, you know. Your father’s death.”

“The brakes failed,” Jordan said painfully, “And the truck rolled back on him. How could that be your fault?”

He waved a trembling hand in the air. “Oh, I might not have caused the actual accident. But if I’d been better equipped to deal with the store, if I’d been of more help to your father instead of a hindrance, the accident never would have happened.” He slumped in the chair and closed his eyes. “Maybe he’d have taken the time to check the brakes if I’d pulled my own weight.”

“Uncle Cletus, that’s sheer speculation. You can’t blame yourself, not for that.” Her hand tightened on his. “I certainly don’t. You’ve done so much for me. You’ve raised me, cared for me, loved me as though I were your own. We’re family.”

He shook his head. “I owed it to you, and then some. I’ve been a selfish old man. After the mistake with the ad, I saw history repeating itself, only with you this time, instead of your father.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, puzzled. “This has happened before?”

“No, not the ad.” He shifted in his chair. “I’d come to depend on you more and more. You put so much of yourself into Cornucopia, just like your father and my father before him. What if something happened to you? What if, because of my incompetence, something worse happened than my misjudging some silly ad? I couldn’t live with myself if it did.”

“That’s why you sold?” she demanded, unable to keep the incredulous note from her voice.

“Not just that.” His face puckered in frustration. “I probably would have kept rationalizing everything and allowing you to continue to do most of the work if it hadn’t been for Rainer. Because of him, I saw what I had to do. It only made sense.”

Here it comes. Jordan looked away. Now she’d hear how Rainer convinced her uncle to sell. What combination of words had he used to persuade a vulnerable old man to give up his livelihood?

She drew herself up short. Is that what she honestly believed? That Rainer would do something so unethical? So . . . so despicable?

No. She shook her head automatically. Not in this life or the next. She’d never been more certain of anything. Why hadn’t she realized it sooner? If Rainer wanted something, he went after it head-on. He confronted, demanded, and—ten times out of ten—achieved. He didn’t sneak behind people’s backs. He didn’t con old men. And he didn’t romance women in order to get it.

So, what the devil had Rainer said to her uncle?

“Uncle Cletus,” Jordan said in a stern voice, staring him square in the eye. “You and I need to get one thing clear. Cornucopia is yours and it’s up to you what happens to the store. If that means selling, so be it. It’s your choice and I support that choice.”

He gazed at her in relief. “Do you really mean that?”

“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.