Free Nordic Heroes: In the Market and a Wholesale Arrangement by Day Leclaire Page B

and asked, “What was he like?”
    Memories came flooding back and seemed to tumble out of their own volition. “Grandpa was a big gruff man. I remember he could hoist a hundred-pound sack of spuds on each shoulder and not break a sweat. He’d toss me in the air as though I weighed no more than a cotton ball.” She laughed. “I guess to him I didn’t. He used to call me his little alfalfa sprout.” For the second time that day, tears glistened in her eyes. “Isn’t that silly?”
    If anything, his voice became even gentler. “It sounds like someone who loved his granddaughter very much. My father calls my niece, Laura, cabbage head. For some reason, she loves it. Maybe because she instinctively understands how much Dad loves her.” He glanced at Jordan. “How old were you when your parents died?”
    “I was five when my mother was killed in a car accident.”
    Rainer muttered an exclamation and swung the car to the side of the road. He switched off the engine and faced her, his eyes reflecting his regret. “Damn, Jordan, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
    She shook her head. “It was a long time ago and the things I recall are more flashes than actual memories. I know I take after her. She was small and dark, too.” Jordan shrugged helplessly. “It usually comes back to me in the form of a certain scent or expression. Or I’ll hear someone laugh and it’ll evoke a feeling of déjà vu.”
    “And your father?” he probed carefully.
    “There was an accident at work with the truck. I was fourteen.” She managed a smile. “You should have been around then. You could have gotten Cornucopia for a song.”
    “Don’t.” His voice was rough. “How did you manage?”
    “Uncle Cletus did the best he could, but he needed help. Things went downhill businesswise for a while until I learned the ropes. These past few years have been pretty good, despite the stroke Uncle Cletus had last summer.”
    He sat very still. “Someone told me you’ve been buying at Constantine’s for ten years. You’ve been going down there since you were fourteen?”
    She nodded. “Uncle Cletus and I would shop before school. I’d help him set up and then come in to lend a hand after my classes were through for the day. Once I graduated from high school, I took over the buying altogether.”
    “I don’t believe this,” he muttered.
    “Why not?” She stared at him, puzzled. “I’m much better at it than my uncle. He does wonderful displays and keeps the store in great running order. But he used to annoy the salesmen because he’d—” She stopped abruptly.
    “Talk to all the produce?” Rainer finished the sentence for her.
    Jordan felt her skin grow warm. “Don’t you dare say anything snide about my uncle,” she warned. “I love him dearly. If he weren’t so . . . so obsessed with produce, we wouldn’t be as successful as we are today.”
    Rainer shook his head. “I disagree. But I won’t dispute it with you.” He looked at her curiously. “When do you find time for a social life?”
    “I manage,” she said stiffly.
    “Right. Now pull the other one. I work in this business remember? I know what sort of hours are involved.” She started to argue and he put a finger to her lips. “Before you say it, I enjoy a social life only because I have help. Good help.”
    She spoke around his index finger, tempted to give it a bite. “And I have Uncle Cletus.”
    “Precisely.” He stared at her, his gaze speculative. “If ever there lived a damsel in need of rescuing, she sits before me. Shall I sweep down on my white charger and carry you off?”
    “No,” she said in a firm voice. “I am not Cinderella and I do not think of working at Cornucopia as a life of drudgery. If I did, I’d quit. Nice try, but I’m not buying.”
    “And I’m not selling. Cornucopia is a success for one reason and one reason only. And it isn’t your Uncle Cletus. As for you . . .” He smiled teasingly. “Maybe you