Mad About You

by Bond, Stephanie

  "Same here," Jasmine said with a small smile.

  "Well, come on," Ernie said, gesturing to Ladden. "Maddie is waiting to blow out the candles. Silvie will have one of her spells if that chocolate cake melts down."

  Ladden shifted uncomfortably and jerked his head toward the door meaningfully. "You go ahead, Ernie, and tell them not to wait. I'll be there as soon as I can."

  "That's all right," Jasmine interjected. "I need to be leaving, too."

  "You're coming with Lad, aren't you?" Ernie asked, his bushy brows high on his creased forehead. "We have a family tavern and hangout. Ladden's Aunt Silvie would love to meet the woman in his life."

  Ladden closed his eyes, tingling with humiliation. "Ernie, please go ahead."

  "I really do need to go," Jasmine said hurriedly, tearing out a check and signing it quickly. "Let me know if this isn't enough," she said, stuffing the paper into Ladden's hand. She practically ran to the door, holding the copper lamp against her chest. Ladden's heart fell as she scrambled out the door.

  "Thanks, Uncle Ernie," he said.

  "What did I say?" Ernie demanded, throwing up his hands. "Are you sleeping with her?"

  "No, I'm not sleeping with her! What's the matter with you?" Ladden bellowed.

  "Ah," his uncle said, nodding calmly. He put his arm around Ladden's shoulder and steered him toward the door. "Then that explains why you're so aggravated… and why you smell like a muskrat."

  * * *

  "I'm starving," Ladden announced as he held open the door of Tabby's, the family watering hole for the last two decades, for his Uncle Ernie. He kissed his Aunt Silvie and pulled his young Cousin Maddie's ear after she blew out twelve of the thirteen candles on her chocolate cake, joining them in a booming rendition of "Happy Birthday." When the song was done, he crossed the spacious restaurant to the bar and yelled a greeting to Malone, the bartender.

  "Here you go, Ladden," Malone said, sliding a mug of beer toward him.

  Ladden pulled out his wallet, but Malone waved it off. "Drink up tonight, buddy," he said. "Your friend covered your tab."

  Confused, Ladden asked, "What friend?"

  Malone shrugged. "Some old guy with a turban. He gave me a brand-new hundred dollar bill and asked me to give you this note."

  Frowning, Ladden took the small folded note and opened it. A wise first wish, Master.

  * * *

  Jasmine walked briskly toward her car, more rattled now than she had been this morning. No one had asked her out since she'd started seeing Trey McDonald, and she liked the idea that everyone seemed to think she was off-limits—spoken for by one of the most powerful men in the state. No one had presumed to compete with his charm, his looks, his influence, his money... except Ladden Sanderson, a quiet, rough-around-the-edges man who, for the most part, made his living with his big hands and strong back.

  What seemed even more incredible than his forwardness was her impulse to take him up on his offer. He had looked so appealing, standing there all scrubbed and brushed, his big body filling his clothes in the most sexy way. At the hopeful look in his dark eyes, she'd nearly buckled. The thrill she'd experienced at his invitation went beyond flattery. But she wasn't about to risk her current relationship over a strong physical attraction to a man who, although very nice, didn't share her lifelong goals, her circle of friends, or her ambition to rise as far as possible above the poverty she'd grown up in, in a shack on the outskirts of Glenhayden.

  Jasmine squashed the unpleasant memories, then halted abruptly and looked around. "My car," she muttered. "I know I parked it right here." She craned her neck, looking up and down the street, pacing back and forth in front of the empty spot where she was sure she had left it. Panic bloomed in her chest—could it have been stolen?

  "Are you looking for a white carriage?" a strange looking man wearing a turban yelled from across the street. He spoke with a rich accent and appeared to be selling watches from a card table.

  Jasmine nodded. "Did you see my car?"

  "A big machine with a hook on the back pulled it away," he said matter-of-factly.

  "Towed? Oh, no." Jasmine glanced at the expired parking meter—she was sure it had time on it when she’d parked. She reached into her purse for her cell phone, then bit back a moan when she saw the dark power light. It was six-thirty—most shops were already closed for the evening, but she should be able to find a phone in a bar or restaurant. Morosely, she realized the press would have a field day when they discovered the governor's girlfriend's car had been towed because she hadn't fed a fifty-cent parking meter.

  She shouted at the watch man, "Can you tell me where I can find the nearest phone?"

  The man screwed up his face in thought, then pointed in the direction she’d just come from. "That would be a place called Tabby's."

  Chapter Four

  JASMINE STEPPED GINGERLY into Tabby's, warming immediately to the cozy atmosphere. Buffed to a high sheen, the wood floor dipped and rolled from the passage of many feet over the years. An enormous pecan-colored bar lined the wall to her right, fronted by red upholstered stools. Aproned waitresses wound their way between tables surrounded by low, comfortable looking chairs, most of which were occupied in the height of the dinner hour. The din of conversation and laughter almost drowned out the background piano music. It was a nice, family place, Jasmine decided, seeing as many children as adults enjoying the spaghetti and meatloaf.

  The hostess greeted her just as she recognized Ladden standing at the bar, holding a beer in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. With a jolt, she realized this must be his family's restaurant. She acknowledged a small thrill at seeing him again, even though seeing him in such a casual setting was a bit of a shock. How odd that she'd never really thought about Ladden's life outside of his shop. He was studying the paper with a creased brow, but when he glanced up and saw her, his dark eyes widened.

  She raised her hand in a wave as he straightened and moved toward her. "Hi," she offered when he was within earshot.

  "Hi," he said, his face wreathed in smiles. "I'm glad you changed your mind."

  She twisted the bag that contained the copper lamp. Her palms felt suddenly damp. "Well, I didn't exactly. My car was towed and my cell is dead. Someone told me I could find a phone here."

  One by one, his smiles dissolved. "Oh."

  "This looks like a great place," she said hurriedly.

  He shifted from foot to foot, then inclined his head. "Thanks—I'll tell my cousins the governor's interior designer said so."

  She knew he meant to pay her a compliment, but it didn't quite feel like one. And she wasn't sure why.

  "Glad to see you changed your mind, little lady," boomed Ladden's Uncle Ernie as he stepped up to clap Ladden on the back.

  "Ernie—" Ladden began.

  "Be careful, though." Ernie held up a beefy finger. "Ladden here breaks hearts as often as I break wind."

  "Ernie! Do you mind?" Glaring at his uncle, Ladden jerked his head in a motion that said, "Scram," but the man was unfazed.

  "Actually, Mr. Sanderson," Jasmine said, holding back a smile, "I'm looking for a phone so I can locate my impounded car."

  "Give me your tag number and I'll make the call from the bar phone," Ladden offered.

  Jasmine smiled her thanks and rummaged in her purse for something to write on.

  "Here," Ladden said, extending the scrap of paper in his hand. "You can write on the back."

  "Another love note from one of the waitresses?" Ernie asked, peering over his shoulder.

  Ladden frowned. "Ernie, why don't you—"

  "Take Jasmine with me to watch Maddie open her presents?" Ernie cut in smoothly, then gently clasped her elbow and flashed a grin. "I'd love to. How about it, little lady?"

  Jasmine shrugged awkwardly. "Well—"

  "My Silvie makes the best punch you ever tasted," Ernie cajoled. "Her secret ingredient is cranberry ginger ale."

  Ladden exhaled noisily. His face grew redder by th
e second. She wanted to rescue him.

  "Ernie, I don't think Jasmine—"

  "It sounds fun," she said quickly. "I haven't had good punch in a long time."

  Ernie smiled smugly at his nephew. "We'll be in the back when you're finished."

  Jasmine allowed herself to be led away with a backward glance at an apologetic Ladden. She and Ernie threaded their way toward the far corner of the dining room where about twenty people were gathered around a beaming young girl with long, honey-colored hair. Ernie waved his hands and the group quieted, studying her with curious eyes.

  "Everyone," he said proudly, "this is Jasmine, Ladden's friend."

  The inflection in his voice, coupled with his wagging eyebrows garnered a collective, singsongy "Ah" from the group that brought warmth to her cheeks. A plump, middle-aged woman stepped forward and kissed Jasmine on both cheeks. "Welcome, my dear. I'm Silvie, Ladden's aunt. My daughter Maddie was just getting ready to open her birthday gifts."

  "I don't want to intrude," Jasmine said, feeling uncomfortable. They obviously thought she was Ladden's girlfriend.

  "Nonsense," Silvie said, leading her to a chair. "You look familiar to me—are you a model or something?"

  Jasmine laughed. "No, I'm an interior designer. I've been shopping at Ladden's Castle for years."

  Silvie squinted. "Maybe I've seen your picture somewhere."

  Her picture had appeared regularly in the lifestyle section of the newspaper since she had begun dating the governor, but she didn't want to bring it up. "I suppose I just have one of those faces."

  The woman dismissed the subject with a wave. "Let me get you a nice cup of punch."

  Jasmine settled between Ruby, Silvie's niece, and Joey, Ladden's cousin who, she discovered in a few minutes, owned a third of the tavern. Joey, a short, dark-haired fellow who looked to be a few years older than Ladden, seemed to be keenly interested in her legs. Ladden wasn't in her direct line of vision, and she resisted the urge to crane her neck lest she incite the group. She sipped her punch and watched in silence as Maddie opened a stack of presents, exclaiming with glee over in-line skates from her parents, a jewelry box from an aunt, and a charm bracelet from her Uncle Ladden.

  "Oh, it's beautiful," the little girl gasped, holding out the bracelet for everyone to see. She looked around the tavern. "Where is Uncle Ladden?"

  "He's making some phone calls for me," Jasmine said, touched that he'd bought such a lovely gift for his niece and feeling worse and worse for making him miss the festivities. She slipped an embellished sterling silver comb from her braided hair. "I didn't know to bring a gift, Maddie, but I'd like you to have this."

  "Wow," Maddie breathed, stroking the comb. "Will you show me how to fix my hair like yours sometime?"

  After a slight hesitation, she responded, "Of course—the next time I see you." She felt so out of place.

  "Are you going to marry Uncle Ladden?" the girl asked, eliciting laughter from the adults.

  Ladden approached the table, and from the look on his face Jasmine was sure he had heard his niece's question. "Jasmine and I are just friends, Maddie." He threw the adults a warning look.

  "Thanks for the bracelet, Uncle Ladden."

  "You're welcome." He walked around behind Maddie and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

  "Look what Jasmine gave me," she said, lifting the comb for his inspection.

  "Very nice." He nodded appreciatively, swinging his gaze in her direction. Jasmine squirmed, torn by the urge to flee the intimacy of the atmosphere and the desire to observe a normal, all-American family—a phenomenon she had never experienced.

  As Maddie opened the last of her gifts, Ladden moved behind Jasmine's chair and whispered, "I found your car. It's in city lot D, but you can't claim it until morning."

  She had feared as much. Pushing back her chair, she said, "Thanks. I should be getting home." She answered the chorus of good-byes as she left the table, all too aware that Ladden was only a step behind her.

  "Er, Jasmine, I'm sorry you got dragged into all that." He gestured vaguely toward the party. "My family can be a little exuberant."

  "It's okay," she said, moving as quickly as possible toward the bar.

  "I'll take you home."

  She stopped and slowly turned back to see him rubbing his hands together in a nervous gesture. Her heart jumped erratically. "I don't think—"

  "I'll go back to the shop and get the truck—"

  "No!" Her tone was more sharp than she'd intended, triggered by alarm she felt at the attraction that had sprung up between them.

  Ladden wet his lips, then nodded and took a step back. His smile was apologetic. "That's okay—I didn't expect you to want to go rattling around in my big truck."

  Jasmine winced inwardly when she realized she'd hurt his feelings. The world could use more people like Ladden—he was a true gentleman. "I mean, no, don't do that because... because it's a nice night." She conjured up a smile. "I'll walk with you to your truck."

  "Yeah?" he said, the right side of his mouth climbing.

  "Yeah."

  He swept his arm toward the door.

  She stepped ahead, inhaling sharply when his hand brushed her waist. He waved goodbye to his uncle, then held open the door for her. Jasmine gripped the oil lamp tightly to calm her pounding heart as she stepped down onto the sidewalk.

  The night was lovely, she acknowledged as he fell into step beside her. The late October air was bracingly cool but fresh and head-clearing. Goose bumps skittered across her arms and shoulders beneath the thin silk of her tunic. The streetlights flickered on, activated by the falling dusk, and a few pedestrians dotted the sidewalks in small knots, on their way to the movies or to dinner. Traffic had slowed, almost as if it were lulled by the haunting sounds of a saxophonist on the corner. They stopped to listen for a few seconds, and Ladden tossed a bill into his upturned hat.

  "You have a nice family," Jasmine ventured into the silence between them.

  He chuckled, shaking his head. "Thanks—they can be a bit overwhelming, but they're great. Silvie and Ernie practically raised me. Maddie is more like my little sister than my niece." His voice held true warmth, and she felt a stab of envy. "It was nice of you to give her the comb."

  "She seems like a sweet kid."

  "The best. And she really liked you—they all did."

  She smiled. "That's because they thought I was your girlfriend."

  His laughter was short and rueful. "Sorry about that. My aunt and uncle are eager for me to settle down."

  Jasmine grinned. "Well, according to your uncle, you have your pick of women."

  "My uncle is delusional."

  They walked a little farther before she asked, "So why haven't you married, Ladden?"

  He pursed his lips. "I guess you could say I'm married to my job. I work long hours, and I spend most of my time away from the business scavenging for more antiques."

  "But I'd think having... someone... around to help you would make things easier."

  His smile was easy, displaying white, even teeth. "If by someone you mean a wife, well, I simply haven't met a woman who shares my love for old things."

  She scoffed. "But what about the shop? Everyone who comes in loves old things."

  Ladden shook his head. "Most of my clients are gay men"—he sighed dramatically and pinned her down with his gaze—"or unavailable women."

  Her stomach was doing funny things. "Th-there are lots of single women in Sacramento," she stammered as he led her down the dimly lit alley beside his store. Their footsteps echoed off the brick pavement, and she heard scurrying noises near the Dumpster, driving her closer to his side.

  "Except I'm not interested in lots of single women," he said, putting his hand on her waist. He swung open the door of his big delivery truck. "I'm interested in a particular single woman."

  Jasmine's breath left her as she read the seriousness in Ladden's gaze. He towered over her by a good eight inches, and she had never consider
ed herself a small woman. She dropped her gaze to his chest, which turned out to be a mistake, because the sight of his red shirt expanding with each breath sent her imagination running wild.

  Her mind constructed words to explain that what he implied was impossible, to let him down gently—but the phrases were scrambled somewhere between her brain cells and her tongue. Instead, she allowed him to curl his hands around her waist and lift her—as easily as if she were one of those strange butterflies—into the seat of the roomy cab.

  After he closed the door, Jasmine bit her tongue and counted to ten in the darkness. She'd call Trey the minute she arrived home and see if they could meet for dinner tomorrow, or maybe lunch—or even a snack. The driver-side door squeaked open, triggering the overhead light, and Ladden swung up into the seat. He banged the door shut three times before it stuck, then said, "I might ask you the same question." He pumped the gas pedal, then turned over the engine.

  Intent on the calming effect of her counting, Jasmine asked, "What question?"

  "Why haven't you married?"

  She waited until he'd put the truck into gear and they'd lurched forward before she answered. "I've been waiting for the right man, I guess."

  Ladden reached forward to turn on the radio. "And have you found the right man in Governor McDonald?"

  Jasmine listened to the strains of a jazz guitar for several seconds, then said, "He's the most eligible bachelor in the state."

  "So they say. Better buckle up."

  "Are you a bad driver?" she teased, glad to change the topic.

  "The shocks on this old truck have just about had it," he said with a grimace. "The seat belt will keep you from bouncing against the ceiling if we hit a pothole."

  She laughed, relaxing into the soft, upholstered bench seat. The cavernous cab smelled like the lemon air freshener that dangled from one of the knobs on the imposing dashboard. Despite the seemingly endless space between her and Ladden, Jasmine felt the intimacy in sharing a confined space with a man who had so recently made her aware of his interest.