Mad About You (49 page)

"Well, with all the kissing you two do, I guess you'll be having babies and stuff."

Exchanging glances with Bailey, she ventured carefully, "And how would you feel about that?"

Chad shrugged and grinned, clearly happy at the prospect. "Whatever."

Epilogue

VIRGINIA SMOOTHED THE SLIM SKIRT of her short wedding dress, taking a deep, calming breath. The music had started, her mother and Rita had just left the dressing room, and she had all of five minutes before once again becoming Mrs. Bailey Kallihan. She was as nervous as she'd been all those years before. Unlike her first wedding day, however, she wasn't plagued with doubts about Bailey's level of commitment, and the child growing within her then was now the joy of her life.

A small knock sounded at the door. She turned away from the mirror. "Yes?"

"Mom?" Chad asked, poking his head and shoulders in the room. "Can I come in?"

She smiled. "Absolutely. You can help me tame these butterflies."

"Wow, you look great." He walked toward her with his hands behind his back.

"Thanks," she said. "You don't look so bad yourself." She straightened his bow tie, her heart swelling with pride at the sight of him in his small black tux. "Are you excited?"

He nodded. "We're almost a family."

Tingling with happiness, she stroked his cheek. "We always were, sweetheart, we were just a bit... scattered."

"I got something for you," he said shyly, withdrawing a small package from behind his back.

She took it, swallowing the lump in her throat. The paper, silver with white wedding bells, had been mangled a bit, then repaired with yards of cellophane tape. A big white bow sat crookedly on top.

"I wrapped it myself."

"It's so pretty," she whispered.

"
Open it.
"

Carefully, she tore away the paper to uncover a jeweler's box. She glanced at her son suspiciously, but he was wide-eyed with anticipation.

"Hurry, you don’t have much time."

She lifted the hinged lid to reveal a shiny gold locket on a gold chain. She pressed her lips together to stem her welling tears. "It's lovely," she whispered, pulling the necklace from the box and fingering it lovingly. She slipped her thumbnail into the groove and opened the case to reveal a recent picture of Chad. Her heart swelled.

"Do you like it?" he asked. "I bought it
all
by myself."

She reached for him and gathered him in a powerful hug. "I absolutely love it, but you didn't have to do this—it must have cost a lot of money."

He shrugged. "I took my new Nintendo back to the store and got a refund."

"Oh, Chad."

He bit his lip. "I didn’t deserve a new one. I left my game lying on the floor. What if you’d tripped on it and fallen down the stairs?"

Ah—now she knew why he’d never played with the new game, because he’d felt guilty. "But I didn’t," she said lightly, and kissed his nose. "You never cease to amaze me, you wonderful boy. Do you know how much I love you?"

He blushed happily.
"Yeah, Mom, you only tell me ten times a day."

Another knock sounded, and Rita stuck her head in. "Ginny, everyone's waiting!"

"Be right there," Virginia said. She handed the necklace to Chad. "Will you put it on for me?"

He nodded, lifting the chain over her head, lowering it carefully to avoid messing up her hair.

"How does it look?" she asked.

"Beautiful," he breathed.

"I'll never take it off," she promised.

He grinned.

"I think they're ready for us," she said.

He straightened, then cocked his arm out, elbow bent, just like he'd practiced. She tucked her hand inside, and they walked out into the hall.

Jerry and Detective Lance opened the doors to the chapel, smiling and nodding. Virginia and Chad stepped to the back of the church, the wedding march chiming louder to announce her arrival. The small congregation stood as she entered, and at the altar, Bailey turned toward them. She saw her future in his eyes, hers and Chad's. She squeezed her son's arm, smiling, and they walked toward
him
together.

The End

Book 3: Three Wishes

by

Stephanie Bond

Be careful what you wish for...

Chapter One

"NAKED," Jasmine Crowne announced as she stood at the door of the governor's bedroom.

Her assistant April dropped a handful of paper color strips, sending them scattering across the wood floor. "E-Excuse me?" The young woman dropped to her knees to collect the wayward slips of paper.

Jasmine bent to help her. "The room looks a bit naked, don't you think?"

April seemed hesitant to agree, and Jasmine smiled to herself as she realized her unfortunate word choice inside her boyfriend's boudoir. "Unfinished," she amended.

"You're the expert, Ms. Crowne," April said breathlessly, eager to please.

"This room definitely needs a rug," Jasmine asserted, then sat back on her heels. "But I've been all over Sacramento and nothing seems quite right."

"I thought that nice Mr. Sanderson was looking for a rug for you."

April always referred to antiques dealer Ladden Sanderson as "that nice Mr. Sanderson." "He is, but so far even Ladden has come up empty-handed."

Her assistant adopted a skeptical expression. "How hard could it be to find a
rug
?"

"That's what I thought at first." Jasmine shrugged. "I honestly can't remember having so much trouble locating a single item, but every carpet I've seen is either the wrong color, or the wrong size, or too fussy, or too trendy." She handed the strips she'd collected to April and rose. "I guess I'll know it when I see it."

"Kind of like Mr. Right," April said dreamily.

Jasmine laughed at the woman's romantic notions. "I suppose, although at the moment this rug seems even more elusive."

April stood and pushed up her glasses. "Easy for you to say, Ms. Crowne—you're dating the governor."

Resisting the urge to reveal that dating the busiest man in the state wasn't all it was cracked up to be, Jasmine relented with a smile. "Touché."

"That nice Mr. Sanderson will find a rug for you—he won't let you down."

Jasmine gave her assistant a teasing smile. "
That nice Mr. Sanderson
is holding a table for me. Perhaps I'll pay him a visit and see if he's found a magic carpet for me yet."

* * *

Ladden Sanderson wrinkled his nose, trying to ward off a burgeoning sneeze. He stumbled through the rear entrance of his antiques store, searching for a place to set down the box of finds before his lungs exploded. Dropping his load on a battered coffee table with a clatter, he yanked a handkerchief out of his back pocket and succumbed to a ferocious sneeze.

"Damn dust!" He stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket and glanced around his shop with a rueful smile. Dust was his life. Along with dirt, mud, mold, mildew, rust, rot, grease, gunk, and various other earmarks of aged whatnots. Which was why his hands were always a mess—alternately soiled from handling the pieces he gathered from estate sales, stained from restoring the better finds, and raw from trying to scrub his nails and knuckles clean. He peered into the crate of metal bric-a-brac and frowned. Probably junk, all of it, but the clever auctioneer had bundled the box with the rug Ladden had had his eye on, so, worthless or not, it was now his.

Ladden rolled his aching shoulders. Yesterday's scavenging had yielded him two beautiful—but heavy—iron beds, and today his body was complaining. He might have considered leaving the carpet in the truck until the afternoon, but he was so eager to examine his purchase he traipsed back outside. He paused only long enough to inhale the cool, fresh October air and rid his head of the pungent odor of which all antiques seemed to reek, then reached into the back of his rickety delivery truck and carefully, as if it were a sleeping woman, lifted the rolled carpet to his shoulder.

Adrenaline pumped through his chest as he curled his fingers in the long fringe. He'd foraged through hundreds of great rugs in his quest to be
the
antique resource for Sacramento designers. But this
rug...
he knew it was special the second he’d unrolled it this morning in the auction hall. And the only sensation that topped the high of knowing he'd made a fabulous find was the anticipation that Jasmine Crowne, one of the city's top interior designers, would appreciate his tenacity and grace him with one of her amazing smiles as she said, "I'll take it!"

Just the image of her big green eyes and wide, curving mouth warmed his cheeks. And that dark, straight ponytail she wore down her back drove him absolutely wild wondering how her hair would look spilling around her shoulders, sliding through his fingers...

Ladden snorted at his musings. "Dream on, man," he muttered to himself as he eased his awkward load through the extra-wide doorway. Not only did Jasmine Crowne have a boyfriend, but the man had more buildings named after him than Ladden had calluses. And when people addressed him, they called him "Mr. Governor, sir" instead of "hey, you in the hat."

Stepping past a row of cobwebby trunks, he settled the rug on the hardwood floor of his crowded storeroom, then pushed aside armoires, chairs, curios, and other odd pieces to clear a large space. Heart pounding, he reached into the front pocket of his jeans and withdrew a small knife to cut the binding cords. With a flick of his wrist, he unfurled the carpet, then jerked back in surprise as dozens—no, hundreds—of multicolored butterflies emerged. "What the...?"

Dumbstruck, Ladden stared as the beautiful insects whirled and floated around him, their wings making tiny thrumming noises as they flew past his ears. Where had they come from? He quickly knelt and ran his fingers over the hand-tied pile to look for hidden cocoons and larvae he had missed during the inspection. His fingers tingled from the buildup of static electricity on the wool surface, but the only discovery within the pile was an unexpectedly small amount of dust and loose fibers.

Ladden frowned. Maybe the rug wasn't as old as he had first assumed. Although the Mughal designs appeared to predate the 1800s, the colors seemed brighter and newer here under his own lighting. Perhaps the carpet was simply a convincing reproduction. He scanned the surface frantically. At the auction house, he had counted four holes the size of his fist that would have to be repaired by the rug weaver across town. Where were they now? Was it possible he had picked up the wrong rug? Although it seemed unlikely that two rugs so similar would be available at the same auction, he pulled a scrap of paper where he'd written the item number from his shirt pocket and compared it with the yellow tag on the rug. No mistake.

With growing confusion, he stood and walked through the bizarre blizzard of butterflies making their way toward the open doorway. Ladden stopped in front of the makeshift library he stored in a single glass-front bookcase, fingered the spine of several reference books, then withdrew a dogeared volume on Oriental-design rugs. Thumbing through the colorful pictures, he compared the closely spaced lilies and asters on a field of raspberry red to photos in the book. A wide black and a narrow cream-colored border surrounded the dominant red center of the bed-sized rug, and both of the short sides were adorned with thick fringe nearly eight inches in length.

Two pictures showed rugs with similar markings, both attributed approximately to the late 1700s, and—Ladden swallowed—both boasting an asking price approaching thirty thousand dollars. He glanced back at his receipt. Even if the carpet were a copy, he'd received quite a bargain for the four thousand dollars that had nauseated him at the time. But for some odd reason, he had felt...
compelled
to buy the rug. His arm kept raising his bid paddle of its own volition until the red-faced auctioneer had yelled, "Sold!"

Remembering the holes he'd imagined, he scratched his head. "Ladden, my man,
you
need a vacation." Then he laughed. With the money he'd make from this carpet, he might actually take one. Jasmine was in the middle of renovating her boyfriend's not-so-humble living quarters at the governor's mansion and had asked him to keep an eye out for a rug for the master bedroom. If she liked it as much as he thought she would, he knew money would be no object.
Still...

He ran his fingers over the rug in admiration and bit the inside of his cheek, his chest filling up with that rare wonder of having found something so special that it seemed worthy of keeping. Which was a dangerous habit in the antiques business— and a rule to which Ladden had made very few exceptions in the last fifteen years. Oh well, he would keep it for a few days at least. Satisfied, he secured the carpet in a wooden hanger and hoisted it high against the rear wall of the crowded room, then called and left a message with an acquaintance who knew more than he about valuing rugs.

Shooing as many of the mysterious stray butterflies outside as possible, he carried the crate with the questionable contents into his showroom. Since Mondays were set aside for estate sales, yard sales, and tracking down special requests, Tuesdays were typically busy with regular customers coming in to check out the latest acquisitions. Which meant Jasmine would be in this afternoon. He would have to decide whether to tell her about the carpet or save the unveiling for another day.