.

way. If one of her chicks had a problem, the mother hen rushed in to fix it—bringing with her lasagna or cookies. So Mia told them about Mitch.

      “He’s salvageable, Mama. There is a lot of good in him, but he needs a man’s influence and guidance. I tried getting him into the Big Brothers program but he refuses.”

      “One of the boys will talk to him. Won’t you, boys?” Rosalie eyed her three sons with a look that brooked no argument.

      “Sure. Of course we would.” All three men nodded in unison like bobble toys in the back window of a car.

      Heart filling with love for these overgrown macho teddy bears she called brothers, Mia shook her head. “Thanks, guys. You’re the best. But Mitch is distrustful of most people. He’d never agree. For some reason, he zeroed in on one of the street patrolmen and will only talk to him. The cop is perfect, but—”

      “Whoo-oo, Mia found her a perfect man. Go, sis.” The brothers started in with the catcalls and bad jokes.

      When the noise subsided, she said, “Not that kind of perfect, unfortunately. I don’t even like the guy.”

      But she couldn’t get him out of her mind either.

      “Mia!”

      “Oh, Mama.” Mia plopped the last zucchini boat on a pan and sprinkled parmesan on top. “Our first meeting was disastrous. I bought the man a hamburger to soften him up a little, and he didn’t even stick around long enough to eat it. And now he doesn’t bother to return my phone calls.”

      “You’ve lost your charm, sis. Need some lessons?” Nic flexed both arms and preened around the kitchen, bumping into Grandma who, in turn, shook a gnarled finger in his laughing face.

      Rosalie whirled and flapped her apron at the men. “Out. Shoo. We’ll never get dinner on.”

      Gabe and Nic disappeared, still laughing. Adam stayed behind, pulled a stool around the bar with one foot, and perched beside Mia.

      The most Italian-looking of the Carano brothers, Adam was swarthy and handsome and a tad more serious than his siblings.

      “Want me to beat him up?”

      “Who? Mitch or the cop?”

      He lifted a wide shoulder. “Either. Say the word.”

      “Maybe later.”

      They both grinned at the familiar joke. All through high school Adam had threatened to beat up any guy who made her unhappy. Though he’d never done it, the boys in her class had thought he would.

      “If I could only convince Sergeant Grace to spend one day with Mitch, I think he’d be hooked. He comes off as cold and uncaring, but I don’t think he is.”

      “Some people aren’t kid-crazy like you are. Especially us men types.”

      “All I want is a few hours a week of his time to save a kid from an almost certain future of crime and drugs.” Mama swished by and took the pan of zucchini boats. “The couple of times I managed to get him on the phone, he barely said three words.”

      Adam swiveled her stool so that her back was to him. Strong hands massaged her shoulders.

      “The guy was short and to the point. No. The least he could do is explain why he refuses, but he clams up like Uncle Vitorio.”

      Adam chuckled. “And that drives you nuts in a hurry.”

      “Yes, it does. Human beings have the gift of language. They should use it.” She let her head go lax. “That feels good.”

      “You’re tight as a drum.”

      “I didn’t sleep much last night. I couldn’t get Mitch off my mind so I got up to pray. And then, the next thing I know I’m praying for Collin Grace, too.”

      “The cop?”

      “Yes. There’s something about him…sort of an aloneness, I guess, that bothers me. I can’t figure him out.”

      Adam squeezed her shoulders hard. “There’s your trouble, sis. You always want to talk and analyze and dig until you know everything. Some people like to keep their books closed.”

      “You think so?” She swiveled back around to face him. “You think I’m too nosey? That I talk too much?”

      “Yep. Pushy, too.”

      “Gabe thinks I’m too soft.”

      “That’s because he’s the pushiest lawyer in three states.”

      Didn’t she know it? She’d lost her first job because of Gabe, and though he’d done everything in his power to make it up to her in the years since, Mia would never forget the humiliation of having her professional ethics compromised.

      Nic stuck his head into the kitchen, then ducked when his mother threw a tea towel at him. “Mia, your purse is ringing. Should I get it?”

      Mia slid off the stool and started toward the living room. She might be pushy, but she played fair.

      A large masculine hand attached to a hairy arm— Nic’s—appeared around the door, holding out the cell phone.

      Taking it, Mia pushed the button and said, “Hello.”

      “Miss Carano, this is Monica Perez.”

      “Mrs. Perez, is something wrong?” Mia tensed. Today was Sunday. A strange time for calls from a client. “Is it Mitchell?”

      The woman’s voice sounded more weary than worried. “He’s run away again. This time the worthless little creep stole money out of my purse.”

      Collin kicked back the roller chair and plopped down at his desk. He’d just returned from transporting a prisoner and had to complete the proper paperwork. Paperwork. Blah. Most Sundays he spent at the farm or crashed out on his couch watching ball-games. But this was his weekend to work.

      “I need to see Sergeant Grace, please.”

      Collin recognized the cool, sweet voice immediately. Mia Carano, social worker to the world and nag of the first order, was in the outer office.

      “Dandy,” he muttered. “Make my day.”

      Tossing down the pen, he rose and strode toward the door just as she sailed through it. She looked fresh and young in tropical-print capris and an orange T-shirt, a far cry from the business suit and heels of their first meeting.

      “Mitch has run away again,” she blurted without preliminary.

      “Nothing the police can do for twenty-four hours.”

      “We have to find him. I’m afraid he’ll get into trouble again.”

      “Probably will.”

      Her gray-green eyes snapped with fire. “I want you to go with me to find him right now. I have some ideas where he might go, but he won’t listen to me. He’ll listen to you.”

      The woman was unbelievable. Like a bulldog, she never gave up.

      “It’s not police business.”

      “Can’t you do something just because it’s right? Because a kid out there needs you?”

      Collin felt himself softening. Had any social worker ever worked this hard for him or his brothers?

      “If I take a drive around, have a look in a couple places, will you leave me alone?”

      “Probably not.” Her pretty smile stretched wide beneath a pair of twinkling eyes.

      She was a pest. An annoying, pretty, sweet, aggravating pest who would probably go right on driving him nuts until he gave in.

      Against his better judgment, he reached into a file cabinet and yanked out a form. “Sign this.”

      “What is it?”