Mad About You (boxed set of beloved romances) Page 36

  "But what if someone has him—"

  He cut her off. "We can't think about that."

  "What if we never see him again?"

  "We will," he assured her. "And we still have each other."

  She smiled through her tears and touched her finger to his mouth lovingly.

  He kissed the tip of her finger, then wrapped his arms around her and squeezed hard. "I know this isn't the best time to propose, and I don't want you to give me an answer now"—he pulled back and brushed a strand of hair out of her wide eyes—"but if the worst has happened and we never see our son again"—he choked, his voice resuming a rusty tone—"I couldn't bear to go on if you're not with me."

  She pressed her lips together tightly, her eyes spilling over again, then lay her head against his chest. She clung to him like a lifeline, and they stood pressed together for several minutes, filling up on each other's love.

  Suddenly a thought occurred to him, and he could have kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. Pulling back, he said, "Ginny, where's the one place you would go if you were Chad?"

  She started to shake her head, then her eyes widened. "Shenoway! But it’s so far—how would he get there?"

  "He’s a smart kid—too smart for his own good."

  Bailey pulled out his phone and called Rita, talked for a few seconds, then disconnected the call. "She hasn't seen him, but I don't think he'd knock on the front door. I’m going over there."

  "I'm going with you," she said. "I can't stand just sitting here."

  As they sped toward the farm, he prayed his intuition was right. In fact, he wouldn't allow himself to think otherwise.

  The moon was in its early cycle, so the meadow lay darkly shadowed when they topped the crest, each carrying a flashlight. Immediately, however, Bailey breathed a sigh of relief. A faint beam of light shone from the back of the meadow, from his tree, the mammoth oak his father had planted. They trotted to it as fast as Ginny could move through the tall, wet grass, then stopped underneath, panting.

  The small flashlight beam had been extinguished. Bailey cleared his throat and said, "Chad, we've been worried sick about you."

  There was a scrape on one of the lower branches, but no response.

  "Why did you run away, son?" he asked gently.

  Silence.

  Virginia felt strength returning to her weak limbs, and laid a hand on Bailey's arm when he started to speak again. "Chad," she said, "if you won't come down here, then we're coming up there."

  She shone her light overhead until she saw him, his hand thrown up to shield his eyes. Her heart shivered in relief to see he was okay. She motioned and Bailey hoisted her up first, then pulled himself up into the nearly room-sized opening the tree's lower branches provided. Using their flashlights, they carefully picked their way over to where Chad sat, crying softly.

  "Hey." Virginia sat down close to him and squeezed his shoulders.

  He didn't look at them, only cried harder.

  "If you don't tell us what's wrong," Bailey said, sitting on the other side of him, "we can't fix it."

  Chad studied the flashlight he clenched in his hands. "I did something real bad, and I didn't want you to find out, so I ran away."

  "Nothing could be that bad." Virginia covered one of his hands with her own.

  He glanced up, then down again. "It is, it's terrible, and you're going to hate me." He started crying again, but Virginia patted his hand, her heart turning over for her son.

  "We could never hate you, Chad," she said quietly. "You're our boy—we love you, no matter what. Just tell us."

  "I s-stole your l-locket," he said, "and th-threw it in the p-pond with my s-slingshot."

  Anguish barbed through her chest at the loss, but she didn’t react.

  "What's this about your locket?" Bailey asked. "I didn't even know it was missing."

  Chad looked up at her, his eyes miserable. "You didn't tell him?"

  She shook her head.

  "But you knew I took it, didn't you?"

  She nodded.

  Chad's face crumpled again. "I was feeling bad about it anyway, and then I got home from the camping trip, and you'd made me that neat picture box, and said nice things even after I broke you and Bailey up—"

  "You didn't break us up, son," Bailey injected with a smile. "We're adults, we make our own mistakes."

  "Well, I know I caused your fight. And I know it made Ginny sad." His lower lip trembled again. "And that letter was there saying you have to take me to court—I'm too much trouble."

  "Hey," she said softly, planting a kiss on his temple, "you let us be the judge of that. Why did you leave your skateboard in the park?"

  "I figured if you thought someone had kidnapped me, you'd be glad I was gone and wouldn't come looking."

  Horror bolted through her, and she pulled his chin up to look directly in his eyes. "Chad, if I ever lost you again, I would never stop crying, do you understand?"

  "I'm sorry," he said, tears sliding down to wet her fingers. "I wouldn't blame you if you still wanted me to leave, but I want to stay with you, Ginny."

  Amazed, she exchanged a glance with Bailey, then wiped a few of Chad's tears with her thumb. "But I thought you wanted to live with Bailey."

  Chad straightened his shoulders and sniffed, then jutted out his chin. "Sons are supposed to take care of their mothers."

  Joy ballooned in her heart and filled every cell of her body. She smiled through her tears. On the other side of Chad, Bailey cleared his throat, then winked a glistening eye at her in the flashlight beam.

  She clasped Chad's hands with hers. "I'm honored you feel that way, but you've got it turned around—it's my job to take care of you." Smiling wide, she said, "Besides, it'll be the two of us for only a little while."

  Chad frowned, confused.

  "Your father and I are getting married," Virginia said with a grin.

  Chad's eyes widened, then he looked back and forth between them. "Really?"

  Bailey's gaze flew to hers. "Really?"

  "Really," she said, laughing. Bailey reached over to squeeze her hand, smiling at her from the shadows.

  "Hm," Chad said, suddenly thoughtful. A small frown furrowed his brow.

  "What?" she probed.

  "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 stat
ic 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...