Nordic Heroes: In the Market and a Wholesale Arrangement (19 page)

“I’m glad you’re pleased with us,” Jordan said with a friendly smile. She pulled out the plastic bags filled with grapes. “I thought ninety-nine cents a pound on these would be an excellent buy.”

The woman laughed. “Sure it would. But offering them at nineteen cents a pound is an unbeatable one.”

Jordan stared at her. “What?”

“Nineteen cents a pound,” the woman repeated, her voice rising a notch. “That’s what your ad says.” She reached into her purse and whipped out a newspaper, spreading it open to the appropriate page. She thumped a stubby finger against the bold print.

“It’s right here in black and white. Grapes. Nineteen cents a pound. Nectarines. Twenty-nine cents a pound. Tomatoes. Ten cents a pound.” The woman directed a stony look at Jordan. “If I didn’t grow my own tomatoes, I’d have a basketful of those, as well.”

The newspaper blurred before Jordan’s eyes and a dawning sense of disbelief and dread crept over her.
The ad.
The ad Uncle Cletus took care of for her so she could go out with Rainer. The ad she was supposed to check—and hadn’t because she’d been so distracted by Rainer.

“Th-there must be some mistake,” Jordan stuttered.

“There sure is if you don’t plan on honoring your ad prices,” the woman agreed, her voice rising another notch. Several of the customers stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at the commotion. “You
are
going to honor your own ad, aren’t you? I don’t think you’ll be in business much longer if you don’t.”

The store grew rapidly quieter. Jordan slipped her hands under the counter and balled them into tight fists to control their shaking.

“Of course we honor our ads. I—I was just surprised there’d be such interest,” she lied valiantly.

Rainer came to stand beside her. “What’s up?” he murmured.

“Everything’s fine,” she replied in an undertone, reaching for her charm. “There’s been a small mix up with the ad.”

He gave her a long hard look. “What can I do?”

“Keep us stocked.” A tiny break in her voice betrayed her anxiety. She knew Rainer noticed, but he didn’t say anything. With a quick nod, he headed for the cooler, calling to Andy and Leroy.

Jordan struggled to keep her panic at bay. What was she going to do? Thinking about the amount of money they stood to lose horrified her. She quickly added up the woman’s purchases, and the next woman’s—once again only ad items—and slipped the piddling amount of money she received into the cash drawer. Within an hour, she realized demand would far outstrip their inventory.

“Andy,” she called. “Take over the register.” She hurried to the rear of the store where Rainer and Leroy and Walker worked as hard and fast as they could to keep everything stocked. “I’ve got to make a run to Constantine’s,” she explained, avoiding Rainer’s gaze.

“No,” he insisted. “What you have to do is stop this nonsense, now, before it’s too late. We can put up signs, explaining the newspaper made an error. People will understand.”

She lifted her head and looked him straight in the eye. “The newspaper didn’t make a mistake,” she said. “I did.” And it was the truth. Not checking the ad had been her error. “I have a reputation to maintain, which means I honor our ad and keep us fully stocked, no matter the cost.”

Without another word, she escaped the store and climbed into her truck. For a brief moment, she rested her head against the steering wheel, the enormity of her situation threatening to overwhelm her. How would she get out of this mess? Fumbling for her charm again, she stiffened her spine. Somehow she’d work her way out, just as she always did.

Yanking out the choke, she fired up the truck. She had a job to 
do.

A
t the close of business Wednesday evening, Jordan looked around at the shambles once known as Cornucopia. Never, in all the fifty years of its existence, had it been in such a state. Bitter awareness filled her, and the muscles in her jaw tightened. By putting her own concerns first, she’d let the family down. It was her responsibility to protect the store, and she’d failed, all because she’d put her own desires ahead of family.

She’d always thought of Cornucopia as her past, as well as her future. She smiled without humor. It didn’t look like much of a future now.

Her gaze shifted across the room. She took in the ripped table skirts, the mangled grapes and stems scattered on the floor, the pile of bruised nectarines, and the sagging tomato table. She groaned. The tomato table—built with her father’s own two hands—had actually broken beneath the press of customers and the weight of vegetables. Fortunately, Rainer managed to shore it up. Temporarily. She shut her eyes, unable to look further.

This . . . this
ruin
represented the Roberts name. And she’d disgraced it. If she’d given more thought—or even a single thought—to Cornucopia’s needs instead of her own, this wouldn’t have happened. But instead, she’d been caught up in her passion and desire for Rainer. Thoughts of him dominated every waking and sleeping moment. She’d gotten her priorities mixed, and this was the result.

She glanced over at Leroy and Andy and Michelle. They were so exhausted they could barely stand. It only added to her guilt. “Come on back to the lunchroom,” she told them. “I have sodas in the fridge. Help yourselves.”

They exchanged disheartened looks, then nodded reluctantly, trooping in unison to the back of the store. She’d better come up with something fast, or there’d be three less employees tomorrow. These kids didn’t look like they could handle one more day like today, let alone three. Her head dropped forward. If only she weren’t so bone weary. If only she could think straight.

Coward! she taunted. Spineless wonder! If she couldn’t face life’s occasional adversities, then she didn’t deserve Cornucopia. Time to get up and fight, or give it up and go slither under some rock.

It took a full thirty seconds of concentrated effort to force her muscles to obey her silent commands. Gritting her teeth, she threw back her shoulders and stood straight. It took an additional thirty seconds to smooth her hair, adjust her wrinkled clothing, and affix a decisive I’m-in-charge-and-can-handle-this expression on her face. She managed.

Barely.

Jordan walked into the lunchroom and gazed at her war-weary troops. The three younger employees sat slumped over the table, nursing sodas. Walker, his mouth sagging open, snoozed in a corner. Uncle Cletus leaned against the wall, his face a sickly shade of gray. She took a deep breath, forcing a cheerful note into her voice.

“Well, I’ve got some good news and some bad news.” Moans met her statement.

She crossed the room to the refrigerator, helping herself to a cola. Thank goodness for caffeine! She popped open the lid and took a deep swallow. “Why don’t we get the bad news over with first,” she said with a bright smile.

“We’re all fired and you’re giving us two weeks’ severance pay?” Andy suggested hopefully.

“’Fraid not.” Rainer walked in and assumed a stance by the door. It took all her concentration to ignore him and continue speaking. “The bad news is the ad prices in today’s paper don’t expire until Saturday. We can expect three more days like today.”

“Three?” Michelle repeated in alarm. She swallowed, rallying with an effort. “We can survive that, can’t we?”

“Yeah,” muttered Andy and Leroy in unison, though they sounded far from positive.

Jordan winced. If only they didn’t look so crushed. She didn’t think she’d lose her employees, but they deserved better than this. Desperate times called for desperate measures. “The good news is you’ll all get a bonus for those three days.”

That seemed to cheer them. Then Michelle glanced at the other two and whispered something beneath her breath. Andy and Leroy nodded. “Forget it,” she said. “It’s nice of you to offer, but you don’t have to pay us extra. We’ve decided and we’re with you on this. You know—ups and downs, good and bad, awful and worse.”

Tears pricked Jordan’s eyes. “Thanks,” she murmured. “You guys are the best.”

Rainer shifted and she peeked at him through lowered lashes. He stood, expressionless, a shoulder propped against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest. The Viking at his Viking-est. Disapproval, clear and powerful, radiated from him. To her surprise, he remained silent.

Jordan returned her attention to her employees. “Thanks for understanding. We’ll discuss this further another time.” She touched Michelle’s shoulder. “Why don’t you three take off. Be back bright and early tomorrow. It’s going to be a rough few days.”

Apparently, they agreed. They rose in unison and headed out the door, murmuring among themselves.

Uncle Cletus shifted in his chair, She’d never seen him so uncomfortable. “Looks like we’ve gotten ourselves in a bit of a pickle. Can we handle it?”

“Of course we can handle it.” She tried for an encouraging smile. “We’ll manage just fine.”

“This is all my fault,” he fussed. “I don’t understand what went wrong.”

Jordan attempted to reassure him. “It’s all right, Uncle Cletus. I guess I didn’t make the numbers clear enough.”

“Clear,” Walker said, now wide awake. “Very clear.”

Uncle Cletus fidgeted nervously, rubbing a hand across his bald spot. “Walker’s right,” he admitted. “Your numbers were clear enough. It was just . . .” His face puckered in a frown. “You said we should run loser ads. Ninety-nine cents a pound for grapes wasn’t much of a loser. So I thought if we could get more customers by dropping our prices a little . . .” His voice trailed off miserably.

Jordan shut her eyes. Oh, Uncle Cletus, what have you done? He wanted to help, that’s all, she tried to convince herself. Unfortunately, his business acumen had gone downhill since his stroke. She knew that. She should have protected him.

“Forget it,” she said. “Things aren’t all that bad. Andrea promised to sell us the ad items at cost, which should help. And we don’t know how many new customers we might have gained.”

Renewed hope drifted into Cletus’s eyes. “It’ll all work out, won’t it?”

“Of course it will,” she reassured. “We may have to tighten our belts a little, but it isn’t anything we can’t handle, given time.”

“Tighten our belts?” Cletus repeated in dismay. He rose to his feet, his expression one of bewilderment. “But I wear suspenders.”

Jordan bit her tongue. “Why don’t you and Walker head to the house and have a game of checkers,” she suggested. “I’ve got a few things to do around here, and then I’ll be over. Okay?”

“I’ll do that,” he said. The two men left together, Uncle Cletus muttering to himself about loosening belts and tightening suspenders.

Rainer pushed away from the doorjamb before she could make good her escape, blocking the exit. “We’ve got a few things to discuss,” he said.

She had a fair idea what those few things might comprise. No way did she intend to discuss any of them. “I have work to do. It’ll have to wait.” She attempted to brush by him and he caught her arm.

“We’ll discuss them now.”

She considered arguing, but flat out didn’t have the strength. Defeated, she nodded. “Fine. Start discussing.”

He released her arm and drew a deep breath. “You have some loyal employees who are willing to stick by you. I’m impressed. But why whitewash things for your uncle? He’s the one who caused this mess. It’s his store. Why isn’t he the one taking responsibility?”

“I take on the responsibility because it’s my job,” she insisted. “Uncle Cletus made an error in judgment, that’s all. Besides, what good would harping at him do? Would it change the facts? No. Would it make me feel better to beat him into the ground? No. I look at the bottom line and go from there. I figure out how to keep our employees, how to mitigate damages, and how to turn this whole ugly mess to our advantage.”

A humorless smile lit his face. “If you come up with a way to turn this to your advantage, let me know.”

“I will. In the meantime, I have work to do. Either get out of my way, or get run over. It’s your choice.”

She’d never seen his eyes so dark and threatening. “You have a funny way of asking for help, love.”

Damn her pride! And damn the family loyalty that forced her to say, “There’s nothing to keep you here. This isn’t your business, Rainer. I appreciate all you did today, but you don’t have to stay.”

With all her heart, she hoped he would. But she’d learned the hard way that what she hoped and what she wanted didn’t matter in the least.

“Now there you’re wrong, sweetheart. I do have to stay,” he stated through gritted teeth. “I paid five hundred dollars for the privilege, remember?” His voice lowered ominously. “And don’t you dare offer to refund the money.”

“Don’t worry. I can’t,” she said, her tone dry as dust. “Unless you want it in tomatoes.”

For a brief instant, amusement flickered in his light blue eyes. Then it was gone. “Let’s get busy. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

She hesitated. “Rainer, I . . .” The words wouldn’t come. “Thanks,” she said in a thick voice. “I owe you.”

Not only did it turn out to be a long night setting the store to rights, it turned out be a
very
long night. Jordan finally crawled into bed at two in the morning, feeling like one massive, raw nerve. She didn’t know how she’d survive the rest of the week. It would take every bit of grit and determination she possessed and then some. But she’d manage. Somehow. Cornucopia would survive, even if it killed her. She rolled over, her muscles protesting the movement. And kill her it probably would.