Nordic Heroes: In the Market and a Wholesale Arrangement (8 page)

“Which is why I’d better be right.” And why she’d better have correctly understood the requirements of the community they served. If ever she counted on her expertise at figuring out the angles, it was now. She could only pray it wouldn’t let her down.

J
ordan left Andrea’s office feeling hopeful for the first time since laying eyes on Rainer Thorsen. Until this moment, she’d run scared. Which was undoubtedly his intention. He wanted to keep her off kilter, have her reacting without thinking. Well, all that would change. He was clever, she’d give him that. But if she worked at it, she could find a way around clever.

Thanks to Andrea, she now knew Rainer’s options. She also knew how ruthless the Thorsens could be. The knowledge gave her a number of choices. She liked that, being able to try one thing, and if it didn’t work, switching instantly to something else. It meant she could plan ahead, figure out in advance how to counter each of his moves. Not that she’d find it easy. She knew better than that. But with Cornucopia at stake, she’d do whatever it took to win.

The first and most important objective was to get the community behind the market. That would spike Rainer’s guns. That would—

“Umph!” She bounced off rock-solid muscle, the breath knocked clean out of her lungs.

“Hey, find a door, would you?” Rainer said in greeting. “It’s a lot easier than trying to walk through walls.” He cocked his head. “You look determined this morning.”

“Thanks.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze dead on. “I feel determined.”

He peered at her, his fingers brushing boldly across her cheek. “No storm clouds today I see. Your eyes tell me it’s clear with sunny blue skies.”

This time she didn’t flinch from his touch. Instead, a shiver caught her by surprise. His hands felt like pure magic. Each time he touched her, she found herself wanting the sensation to go on and on. As though sensing her nonverbal cues, he feathered a callused finger from cheekbone to chin.

“They’re changing,” he murmured. “It’s like watching a cloud move across the surface of a lake.”

“Stop it,” she whispered. “This isn’t the time or the place.”

His voice dropped a notch. “Tell me the time and place, and I’ll be there.”

Jordan shook her head. “You know that’s impossible.” Reality set in and with it an awareness of how much she’d given away. So he’d found an angle she hadn’t anticipated. The man was as beautiful as an angel, and as crafty as the devil. “You can’t get Cornucopia that way,” she informed him with cool pride. “I can’t be bought any more than my uncle.”

A deep rich laugh rumbled in his chest. “I know. If that way led to Cornucopia, it would be mine already.”

She gave a shocked exclamation and stepped back, anger replacing captivation. Andrea was right. The Thorsens really would try anything to get what they wanted. “Dream on.”

His laughter died. “Deny it if you will, but before you ever laid eyes on me, you were aware of my presence. That had nothing to do with Cornucopia or the Thorsen name or what stands between us. It had to do with a man and a woman and the instinctive course nature takes. It’s a course not easily changed.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

“Bold words,” he mocked. “Fighting words. Shall I take them as a challenge?”

She sighed. “Don’t you always?”

He rubbed a hand across his square-cut jaw. “I do, don’t I?” Laughter sparked in his eyes. “Challenge is good. Challenge works for me. And since the gauntlet’s been thrown . . . Challenge accepted.”

The first hint of alarm touched her. “Accept what? Hey, don’t start that again. I didn’t throw anything. I wouldn’t know a gauntlet if it wore ribbons and sang opera.”

He didn’t seem to hear. “This will be even better than Cornucopia. Yes. I like this.”

Jordan shook her head, retreating. “You are crazy. And I’m even crazier to listen to you. I don’t know what sort of challenge you think I issued, but you can forget it.”

What did she mean, what sort of challenge? She’d been fully aware of the sexual undertones in their bantering. That sort of contest was as old as time. As old as Eve tempting Adam. But if she was smart, she wouldn’t tempt this man. Because Vikings took—and she was darned if he’d take her.

“It’s not good policy to show fear to your enemy,” he informed her, perfectly serious. “And it’s an even worse policy for a woman to show she fears a man. It brings out the hunting instinct.”

“Climb out of your tree, Tarzan. I’m not playing Jane, so forget it.”

“Jord,” he said reflectively. “Norse for mother earth. There is something elemental about you. Rainer. Norse for warrior.” He stepped closer. “I always thought the meaning of names useless information. Until now. Now I find it rather fitting. What do you think?”

“I think I’m out of here.” She turned on her heel and strode off.

He came after her. Catching her by the arm, he pulled her to a stop. “Wait.” She yanked her arm free and he stepped back, giving her room. “I’m sorry, Jordan. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You didn’t,” she claimed, ready to deny the truth with her dying breath.

By his expression, she wasted both time and energy attempting to deny anything. He offered a soothing smile. “This isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to ask a favor.”

“You have a funny way of going about it.”

The corner of his mouth curled upward in wry acknowledgment. “True. Still, I’d like to invite you to come with me tomorrow to visit some of the Thorsen markets.”

Jordan stared in confusion, his offer taking her by surprise. “Why?”

“To prove the futility of your resistance.”

Her confusion turned to disbelief. “How will showing me around your stores prove that resistance is futile?”

He chose his words with care. “Look, I know you run Cornucopia, not your uncle. If you pressed him to sell, he’d probably sell. Perhaps if you see our stores, see how strong our position is, you’ll realize selling is the best possible choice. In fact, it’s the only choice.”

That angered her. “Let me tell you a thing or two about the choices I have—” She brought herself up short, her eyes narrowing.

No. She wouldn’t say something she’d later regret. If she alienated him at this stage, she’d lose valuable insight into his motives. So far, he’d been very frank about what he wanted. He’d also been very frank about his attraction to her. Why not use that? It couldn’t hurt to get to know the enemy and spot any possible weaknesses. In fact, she’d be a fool if she didn’t.

“Okay, you’re on,” she said with renewed calm. “Pick me up tomorrow at nine and we’ll visit the Thorsen markets.” And long may you live to regret 
it.

“
C
onsorting with the enemy! That’s what I call it!”

Jordan sighed. “Uncle Cletus, I’m not consorting with the enemy, I’m—”

The older man shook his head. “It’s a sad, sad day when my only remaining kin, my own dear sweet niece, would desert her family for the enemy camp.”

“Sad,” Walker said, adding his two cents’ worth.

Jordan and Cletus both turned and glared at the man. With a mumbled excuse, he wandered over to the broccoli display.

Uncle Cletus practically wrung his hands. “Your Grandpa Joe is turning in his grave, weeping tears from heaven above.”

“That’s rain,” she informed him dryly. “It does that a lot around here.” She peeked at her watch, dismayed at how relentlessly the hands moved toward nine. If they didn’t finish this discussion and get the morning’s work done, she’d be late. “Uncle Cletus, do you want to sell Cornucopia?”

He drew himself up. “How could you ask such a question?”

“But do you?”

“Of course I don’t. Why would you think such a thing?”

“Are you sure?” Jordan probed further. “The Thorsens are offering a lot of money. It’s more than enough for you to retire on. You could be on your chicken ranch in Arizona before winter comes, relaxing and enjoying the sunshine.”

His face fell. “You’d rather I sell? I thought you loved Cornucopia.”

“I do. But we’re talking about you and your needs right now.”

Cletus took her hands in his. His blue-gray eyes, so similar to her own, peered at her with unusual intensity. “My dear, the Roberts are Cornucopia. For nigh on fifty years this business has been our pride and joy, despite the struggle of the past ten. Perhaps I’ve been selfish, allowing an old man’s dream to keep you tied when you’d rather be free.”

Tears misted her vision. She hadn’t cried in so long she thought she’d forgotten how. It would appear she remembered. “Uncle Cletus, I love Cornucopia. I love it almost as much as I love you. I don’t want you to sell—” She stumbled to a halt.

This wasn’t the way she’d planned the conversation. How like him to put her wishes before his own. But she had to know how he felt. He shouldn’t keep the store because of some outdated obligation. If they were to fight the Thorsens and win, they’d both have to work toward the same goal. It couldn’t be just for her.

He smiled tenderly, as though understanding her thoughts. “We’re in this together, Jordan. We’re a team. Of course I won’t sell out. What would happen to you?”

“You can’t worry about me,” she declared passionately. “I’m a survivor. You know that. I’ll get another job, find a new obsession.” She looked at him, filled with uncertainty. “Are you sure you want to keep Cornucopia, Uncle Cletus?”

He gave an emphatic nod. “Positive. And you?”

“It’s a fight to the death.”

His former lament returned. “Then why are you going with Thorsen today?”

She laughed. “Would you believe because he asked me? And,” she hastened to add, “for a little cloak-and-dagger.”

The statement clearly intrigued him, stopping his lamentation mid-lament. “Spying?” His bushy eyebrows shot up and he scratched the bald spot on top of his head.
“Spying!
Jordan, you’re brilliant.”

She lowered her eyes modestly. “Tell me more.”

“Yes. Yes. You could have something here.” He rubbed his hands together, and Jordan almost laughed aloud, enjoying his enthusiasm. “You can figure out what the man’s up to, use your feminine wiles. Be a regular Mata—” He stopped abruptly.

She giggled at his horrified expression, asking innocently, “Mata Hari?”

He stared at her as though seeing her for the first time and wagged his finger in her direction. “You dare and I’ll turn you over my knee. How old are you, anyway?” he demanded suspiciously.

She struggled to keep a straight face. “Twenty-four last week. Don’t you remember?”

Cletus shook his head in dismay. “If your father were alive, he’d lock you up and throw away the key. You’re too pretty for your own good. No wonder that man’s come sniffing around here.”

“Uncle Cletus!” Jordan exclaimed.

An obstinate expression darkened his features. “In fact, I’ve changed my mind about this whole business. He’s too good-looking. And big, and strong, and . . . and blond! I’ll go with him. He can show me around the Thorsen markets, instead.” An idea occurred and he brightened. “On the other hand, maybe he isn’t after Cornucopia. Maybe it’s you he’s after.” The frown returned. “I’m not sure which is worse.”

If only he were after her, the wistful thought popped into her head. If only Cornucopia didn’t stand between them. But since it did and since he wanted the store . . . She’d never be certain if he romanced her to get his hands on the market or just for her. After all, look what happened to Andrea when she’d gotten involved with a Thorsen. Jordan thrust the thought aside to consider and mull over when she had the time.

“You’re reading too much into this, Uncle Cletus. I can guarantee it’s the store Rainer wants, not me. He thinks by showing me around Thorsen’s, he’ll change my mind and we’ll hand him the store on a silver platter. He’s wrong. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Cletus didn’t appear convinced. “He’s very good-looking.”

“I haven’t noticed,” she lied without compunction. “My only concern is to get this man out of our lives. Permanently. I don’t think we should let this opportunity slip past. Why don’t I go with him?” Lord, she sounded sanctimonious. She couldn’t believe Uncle Cletus would fall for this.