Mad About You

the deed." She waved as she headed for the door. "I need to call for a going-out-of-business permit."
    Ladden watched her leave, then sheer joy moved him to jump straight up in the air. As he landed, his words from the previous day floated back to him. I wish Mrs. Pickney would simply retire and give me her space.
    He dropped heavily into the leather chair behind his counter, laid his head back, and reflected on the strange events of the last twenty-four hours. The craziness had all started when he'd carried in that mysterious rug.
    Ladden squinted. What was it the homeless guy had said to him?
    The spell has been broken... You have given me my life... Anything you want, simply wish for it, and I shall grant you three of your heart's desires...
    He stared at the ceiling and shook his head. "That's too bizarre to even consider," he said. Yet he had wished for the fantastic, incredible thing that had just occurred.
    "Coincidence," he murmured. Mrs. Pickney was giving him her building because she had no family and because he had helped her over the years. Not because he had wished for it.
    But the note from the bar… A wise first, wish, Master. And his newspaper's strange headline: A wise second wish, Master.
    But even if he were to give an ounce of credence to the wild ravings of a homeless man, he couldn't for the life of him recall wishing for anything besides Mrs. Pickney's store space.
    The peal of the telephone broke his train of thought. Grateful for the diversion, Ladden jammed his fingers through his hair, then picked up the handset.
    "Ladden's Castle."
    "Is this Ladden Sanderson?" a man asked.
    "Yes, may I help you?"
    "Is this the same Ladden Sanderson who rented all the billboards on the bypass?"
    Ladden frowned. "Billboards?"
    "Yeah—the ones that say, 'Ladden Sanderson is crazy about Jasmine Crowne.'"

Chapter Six

    JASMINE ANGLED HER HEAD at the TV, watching one of Trey's political commercials. Tall, slim, and handsome, he was a commanding yet comforting figure, with serious eyes and a strong jaw. During the time they'd spent together, she had been pleasantly surprised by Trey McDonald's sincere regard for his duty as an elected figure.
    "How lucky I am," she murmured, plaiting her hair into a long, loose braid. The frustration she had harbored last night when he hadn't returned her call dissolved as the camera zeroed in for a close-up.
    "Vote for me," he said with a nod and a smile, "and I'll make sure your voice is louder than the lobbyists who are trying to take over state government."
    She sighed. Trey was a very busy man, with an agenda far more important than keeping his girlfriend entertained. He was trying to change the world, and she was pouting because he didn't have time to take her to the movies. Shame on me.
    Her phone rang and Trey’s name came on the screen. She smiled and connected the call. "Hello."
    "Good morning, beautiful. Sorry I didn't get back to you last night. I simply couldn't get away from Senator Dodge until after midnight, and I didn't want to disturb your sleep."
    "Are you insinuating I need my beauty sleep?" she teased.
    "Never. Could I persuade you to attend a dinner and rally with me this evening?"
    "Possibly," she said, her voice light.
    His chuckle rumbled over the line. "I'd consider it a huge favor. It's a big media event, and maybe the press will be more kind if I have you by my side—you're so good at working those vultures. And you're so damned photogenic."
    "Hmm. Sounds as if you need a prop."
    "I miss you," he said, his voice deepening. "Once this campaign is over, I promise I'll make it up to you. We'll go away for the weekend."
    She immediately felt contrite. "Trey, you don't have to make it up to me. I know the election means everything to you." She smiled into the receiver. "And it means everything to me, too."
    "You're a gem. Then I'll see you tonight?"
    "Absolutely. Where?"
    "The Shoalt Hotel, seven-thirty. I won't be able to pick you up, but I'll send over a car."
    Remembering her transportation predicament, she cleared her throat. "That's not necessary, but speaking of cars, I have a confession to make. Mine was towed last night."
    He laughed. "You're kidding."
    "I could have sworn the parking meter still had time left on it—"
    "Don't worry about it. Do you know where it is?"
    "City lot D," she said morosely.
    "No problem. I'll make a few phone calls—"
    "Trey," she cut in, "I just want you to be aware of the situation. If you took care of this, and