Mad About You

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,