Nordic Heroes: In the Market and a Wholesale Arrangement (7 page)

Cletus shook his head. “Amazing how the years go by. My own sixtieth wasn’t all that long ago.” He stood up with a gusty sigh. “Well, son, it’s been delightful to meet you. Just delightful. You tell your pop I’ll try and stop by one of these days.” He looked hopeful. “I guess you have to leave now?”

Jordan shut her eyes and let out a tiny groan.

“Not quite yet,” Rainer said.

Cletus fell back into his chair. “No?”

“No.”

“Uncle Cletus,” Jordan began, only to be silenced by a stern look from Rainer.

He returned to his seat on the stool, his posture relaxed, casual even. It didn’t fool her one tiny bit. She knew determination when she saw it, and this man positively screamed determination. “You received a letter from us a few months ago. Perhaps you recall?”

The older man’s eyes shifted evasively. “Can’t say that I do.”

“Uncle Cletus?” Jordan stared at him in sudden suspicion. “What’s he talking about?”

Rainer cut in. “Since your uncle didn’t receive the letter, I’m sure he doesn’t know. I do. Our letter outlined a proposition we wanted your uncle to evaluate.” His gaze turned cool and direct, and vaguely threatening. “Thorsen Produce is looking to expand. Realizing this has always been Cornucopia’s turf and realizing how
close
the two families have been all these years—”

Jordan couldn’t resist a small unladylike snort.

“Gesundheit. As I was saying, considering the close family ties, we wouldn’t want Cornucopia to feel any loss due to our expansion.”

“Why, thank you.” Uncle Cletus beamed. “I’m sure Canada will be delighted to welcome a Thorsen Produce Market.”

“No doubt.” Nor was there any doubt about the irony in Rainer’s voice. “Unfortunately we were thinking about Seattle’s northern suburbs. Say, Queen Anne Hill or Magnolia or even Blue Ridge.”

Cletus frowned. “That’s getting a mite close, son. I mean, there’s such a thing as being too neighborly.” Jordan gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Rainer glanced from one to the other. “That’s why we want to make you a small proposition. A lucrative proposition.”

The older man perked up at that. “Lucrative?”

“Quite.”

Jordan wondered if her uncle heard the derision in Rainer’s tone as clearly as she did. So he thought her uncle could be bought, did he? He’d soon learn differently. You couldn’t put a price on family, and that was precisely what Cornucopia was. Family.

“We’d like to buy Cornucopia from you.”

“Buy Cornucopia! How dare you!” Cletus thundered.

Jordan wanted to cheer.
Way to go. You tell him!
She kept her hand on his shoulder, the touch one of restraint now, rather than comfort. She shot Rainer a triumphant grin.

“We’re prepared to pay generously.”

Cletus slammed his fist onto the checkerboard crate, narrowly missing a mango. “You can’t put a price on a man’s blood and sweat. You insult me!” He drew a deep breath. “Just out of curiosity, how much are you prepared to insult me with?”

Rainer mentioned a figure that left Jordan more than a little stunned. She turned a concerned gaze on Cletus. She didn’t feel quite so cocky anymore. Rainer offered a lot of money. A whole lot of money.

Cletus drew a shaky breath. “That’s quite an insult,” he muttered, then rallied. “Even so, you can’t have Cornucopia for any price.” He made the statement with quiet dignity. “My father started this store turning it over to me. I promised it would be Jordan’s when I retire to my chicken ranch in New Mexico.”

“Arizona.”

“Exactly.” Cletus grabbed Jordan’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m sure you understand the importance of family in these matters.”

Rainer inclined his head. “I do. I also understand the importance of business.” He eyed them both, his gaze wintry. “Fair warning. We’re expanding northward. You can bow to the inevitable, take what you can, and head for your chicken ranch, or—” He paused, his ruthlessness hiding every scrap of charm. “Or you can lose it all.”

“You can’t be serious!” Jordan protested. “Are you threatening to put Cornucopia out of business?”

“Promising. I don’t make—”

“Threats. I remember, you make promises,” she said, a sarcastic edge creeping into her voice. “It’s impossible to break Cornucopia. We’ll fight you up and down, inside and out, and back and forth, if necessary. The whole community will fight you!”

“Good.” He grinned. “There’s only one thing a Thorsen does better than fighting.”

She knew she’d regret asking, but couldn’t resist. “What’s that?”

“Winning.” He stood. “I believe my business here is completed. For today.” He held out his hand to Uncle Cletus, a hand the older man pointedly ignored. Rainer dropped his arm to his side and glanced at Jordan. “See me out?”

“Afraid you’ll get lost?” she taunted, then released a pent-up sigh. “All right, come on.”

At the front door Rainer turned, catching her arm in a light grip. “I know this is difficult for you, but you need to be realistic. You can’t win this fight.”

Jordan pulled free of his touch. She couldn’t afford to have him affect her in that way. Not now. Not with so much at stake. “We’ll see,” she said.

He took a final look around. “You own the building, as well as the business, don’t you?”

He had to know that already, otherwise he wouldn’t have made such a generous offer. Perplexed, she nodded. “Why?”

“Would you believe idle curiosity?”

“No.”

He chuckled. “Smart lady. It’s a fine building you have here. Almost as fine as the one they’re constructing across the street.”

She froze, sensing danger. “You’re familiar with that project?”

“I better be. It’s my building they’re raising. Looks like we’re going to be neighbors after all.” And with that he left.

Jordan tried to convince herself things weren’t as disastrous as they seemed. It took a lot of convincing and the entire rest of the day.

A
week and a half later, Jordan stood by her truck outside Constantine’s Wholesale Market, her frustration reaching unbearable levels. Ten days had passed since Rainer’s appearance in her life. Ten days since he’d issued his ominous threats and warnings. Ten days of silence.

During that time she’d gone through the full emotional spectrum—anger, annoyance, concern, and finally fear. Didn’t he realize how worried she’d be? Or was that the whole idea? She wished he’d just do something and end their stalemate.

Determined to take action, she entered the warehouse and gazed toward the back at the offices on the second story. Large windows, some ajar, others tightly closed, overlooked the cavernous main floor where she stood. Andrea’s, she noted, were open. Good.

She’d told her friend about the Thorsens’ interest in Cornucopia. Perhaps there would be some much-needed information by now. Anything was better than living in a vacuum. If nothing else, she could count on receiving one of Andrea’s special pep talks, each guaranteed to find the bright side to even the worst disaster.

Andrea’s door opened before Jordan had a chance to knock. “Oh, you’re here,” the tall blonde said with a rather weary smile. “I was about to come and get you. We need to talk.”

Jordan grinned. “I’d hoped you’d say that.”

She entered the room, shoved a stack of receipts off the chair and took a seat across from her friend’s desk. It always amused her to come here. A very clever businesswoman, Andrea seemed to thrive on chaos. Papers, invoices, and produce manuals littered every inch of her office. Yet she could always find anything she needed at a moment’s notice. Today, though, she seemed distracted and tense.

Jordan frowned. Now that she really looked, she realized Andrea had lost weight. A new vulnerability burned in her friend’s expressive dark eyes, the sparkling liveliness dimmed. Nor could she detect any sign of the cheerful optimism that made her friend so special. “Is something wrong?” she asked, quick to put her own worries aside.

Andrea shrugged. “You know how this place gets sometimes. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” She fumbled for some papers, her tone deliberately businesslike, almost off-putting. “Listen, I’ve done some checking. Those threats Rainer made weren’t idle ones. The Thorsens are serious about expanding.”

Jordan dismissed the Thorsens with a wave of her hand. “Forget about that for now. Andrea, I know something’s wrong. What—”

“You can’t forget about it!” She spoke sharply, her voice rising. “You don’t know the Thorsens or their methods. I do. They’re ruthless. They’ll do anything and everything to get what they want. Believe me, I know.”

The passion rippling through her words seemed to hang between them. As though aware of how much she’d given away, Andrea leaned back and shut her eyes.

“How do you know?” Jordan asked gently. “How do you know so much about the Thorsens?”

She must have hit a nerve. Andrea spun out of her chair and paced to the windows overlooking the warehouse floor. “I know because . . . because I was engaged—very briefly—to Rainer’s brother, Thor,” she admitted in a pained voice.

“You
what?”
Jordan stared in confusion. “When was this? You never mentioned an engagement before.”

“It didn’t seem worth mentioning, considering how quickly it ended.” She turned to face Jordan and sighed. “Last month. Remember me raving about the wonderful man I’d met?”

Recollection returned. “You called him your thunder god.” The pieces fell into place and she groaned, making the connection. “Thor Thorsen. He’s the one you were so crazy about?”

Andrea nodded. Tears sparkled in her eyes, but her smile held defiance. “I fell in love with him. He fell in love with a lucrative contract my father offered. Unfortunately, I didn’t hear about it until after he’d proposed and I’d accepted. End of engagement, end of story. You’ll understand why I didn’t call and go into all the thrilling details.”

A memory stirred and Jordan heard again Terry’s caustic words. “If it meant getting the Thorsens’ business, the old man would sell his own daughter. Hell, he’d give her away.” Is that what he’d been referring to, the aborted engagement? Did everyone know what had happened? Poor Andrea!

“So now you understand why I’m quite serious when I say the Thorsens are ruthless,” Andrea continued. “Personal experience, as it were. But enough about me. Let’s deal with your problem. Did you know Rainer’s here today?”

Her words were more than unwelcome, and Jordan shifted uneasily in her chair. “No. You think it’s related to Cornucopia, don’t you?” At her friend’s grim nod, she asked, “What do you think he’ll do?”

Andrea thought for a minute. “I’m certain he’ll weigh all his options before he acts. But there is one thing you can count on. If a Thorsen told you he plans to take over the north end market, then that’s precisely what he’ll do. If he said he’s going to win no matter what, bank money on it, he’ll win.”

“How?” Jordan demanded in a tight voice.

Her friend took a deep breath. “I can only tell you what they’ve done before. One time the Thorsens wanted to acquire a market in White Center owned by an old man named Leo Goldbrick. The Thorsens moved in, and before you could blink, they’d forced Leo out.”

“Forced him out? How?”

“They set up in competition—right across the street. They undercut all his prices and he never stood a chance.” She shoved a hand through her curls, her ink dark eyes reflecting her distress. “When you have a couple of dozen stores, each one making huge profits, you can afford to carry a loser for a few months.”

“They operated at a loss until they succeeded at forcing him out?”

“Got it in one.”

Jordan sat in stunned silence, remembering Rainer pointing to the site under construction across from Cornucopia. He owned that building. He could put his own market in there and set himself up in direct competition. How long would it take before he forced Cornucopia out of business? Longer than Leo Goldbrick, but the end result would be the same.

She stiffened her back. “The community wouldn’t tolerate it,” she maintained stoutly. “And we won’t sell.”

“Look, Jordan.” Andrea gazed at her intently, her voice low and earnest. “You’d better know your options. If you refuse to sell, and if it isn’t economical to try and force you out like they did Leo, then they’ll put markets in all around you, stealing away your business bit by bit. Hemming you in might not be a fast death, but it will be a death nonetheless. Can you handle that possibility?”

Jordan’s gray eyes turned somber. “I’ll have to. We’ll need to anticipate their moves and counter them. The one thing they won’t have considered is the community we service.”

“Why is that a factor?”

A grin eased across her lips. “It’s different from what they’re used to. The neighborhood around us has two types, the older mostly Norwegian set, and the younger upwardly mobile set.”

“The yuppies,” Andrea said dryly.

Jordan laughed. “The yuppies. Fortunately for us, both groups seem to value the same thing—family and tradition. They won’t shop at one of the Thorsen’s sterile impersonal markets as long as Cornucopia exists.”

Her friend looked encouraged. “Do you think so? There’s a lot riding on that assumption.”