Mad About You

the floor and rifled his pockets until he found the note the bartender had given him. He exhaled in relief when he recognized Jasmine's handwriting where she'd written her car tag number. But when he turned over the crumpled note, the other side was blank... completely, absolutely, irrefutably blank.

    * * *

    By the time he locked up the house and climbed into his delivery truck, Ladden had convinced himself he'd close the store for a few days once he filed the insurance claim and drive down the coast for a short vacation. He'd been working too hard, and he was becoming consumed by a woman he couldn't have. Hell, he might even see if Betsy wanted to tag along—she was a cute girl with a sweet disposition. And she came from a nice family on the outskirts of Glenhayden—hardworking people who wouldn't mind that he wasn't rich or influential.
    In the daylight, his truck looked even worse than he remembered, and he tingled with embarrassment when he realized that Jasmine was probably laughing at his clumsy efforts to be near her. By the time he pulled into the alley behind the store, he was determined to get out of Sacramento as soon as possible.
    He opened the rear door to his storeroom and switched on the light, his gaze immediately drawn to the antique rug. Except it wasn't lying on the table where it had been last night when he'd locked up.
    He was standing on it.
    The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He inhaled sharply when a handful of remaining butterflies, disturbed by his entry, took wing and fluttered around his head.
    Pressing his lips together, Ladden took several calming breaths. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Perhaps another tremor had occurred during the night, flinging the rug across the room?
    "Yeah," he muttered, nodding. "That's probably what happened." He stepped to the side on shaky knees, then bent and rolled up the carpet, his fingers stinging from the static electricity crackling across the wool surface. Lifting the tall bundle carefully, he carried it to a corner and stood it next to an armoire.
    He backed away, eyeing the carpet warily. Then he opened the door to his showroom and flooded the area with light, expecting to see evidence of another tremor to support his theory. But things were exactly as he'd left them—not tidy, but unchanged.
    His mind racing, Ladden walked through the shop slowly, stopping to lean on both hands against the long mahogany counter. He was imagining things: the note, the newspaper, the moving rug. Maybe the tremor had been an explosion of some kind, an explosion that had released fumes and claimed a few brain cells.
    A knock on his door brought his head up. Mrs. Pickney stood on the other side of the glass door. He smiled in relief—he needed to have a sane conversation with a sane person. Ladden unlocked the door. "You're here early."
    "I wanted to talk to you before I opened, dear," Mrs. Pickney said, squeezing his hand.
    "Is something wrong?"
    She laughed. "Not at all. This won't take long—I'm retiring."
    He blinked. "Retiring?"
    "Yes. It occurred to me yesterday that you need the space, and I need to move on."
    The business possibilities occurred to him instantly, but he spread his hands and slowly shook his head. "Mrs. Pickney, as much as I'd like to have your frontage, I'm afraid I'm not in a financial position to—"
    "Ladden," she cut in, patting his hand. "I'm giving it to you."
    He reached backward to steady himself on the counter. "You're what?"
    "I'm giving it to you. I have no heirs. My sister and I have all the investments we'll ever need. Besides, you've kept up all the repairs for the last fifteen years—you've earned it."
    He wondered briefly if she had lost her mind. Then he almost laughed aloud—if that wasn't the pot calling the kettle black. "Mrs. Pickney, I can't accept—"
    "Ladden, this is my gift to you, my way of saying thanks for the friendship and support over the years." Her eyes shone. "You're like the son I never had. Nothing would make me happier than knowing I had helped you build your business."
    Flabbergasted, he lifted his arms in the air. "I don't know what to say."
    Her face creased in a wide smile. "Say you'll make Ladden's Castle a huge success."
    He whooped and enfolded her in a bear hug, lifting her off the ground. "I will—I'll make it a huge success. Thank you!"
    She laughed and kissed him on both cheeks. "I'll have my lawyer call you this afternoon to set up a time when we can transfer