Devoted to Drew. Loree Lough

than his. Bianca fastened her keys to the clip inside her purse and popped open the hood.

      “So,” Logan said, aiming a thumb over his shoulder, “was that Italian I heard when I walked into your office just now?”

      “Italian?” It took a moment to figure out what he meant. “Oh, you mean il mio tesoro....”

      Nodding, Logan pried open his hood, too.

      “It’s just a little term of endearment. Something I’ve called Drew since before he was born.”

      “‘My treasure,’” he translated. “I think that’s...sweet.”

      Why the hesitation? She’d met far too many people who considered kids like Drew nothing more than badly behaved nuisances. Some made half-baked attempts at tolerance. Others didn’t even try. Which was Logan?

      “My mom is Italian,” they said at the same time.

      Laughing quietly, Logan looked at the sky. “Takes me back.... My mom used to call me poco terrore.” He met her eyes to add, “Totally different mothering style, evidently.”

      “Little terror?” Bianca couldn’t resist a smile. According to her research, Logan was the youngest of three and the only boy. “So you were a handful even as a kid, huh?”

      His expression said, “Even then”? But Logan held out a hand. “If you’ll give me your keys, I’ll get the jumper cables out of the back of your car.”

      “Thanks, but it’ll be faster if I get them.”

      Bianca knew where the cables were. She had to know exactly where everything was—in the house, in her purse, here in the car—because she never knew when a noise, a crowd, a scent might set Drew off and she’d need to put her hands on something else that would quiet him quickly.

      She moved both backpacks aside—one holding an assortment of toys, the other stuffed with healthy nonperishable snacks—and unearthed the duffel she’d filled with two outfits for Drew and a change of clothes for herself. Behind it sat the “Just in Case” bin, where she’d stacked blankets, a portable DVD and movies, earplugs and an odd assortment of miscellaneous paraphernalia. Finally, under that, she grabbed the red-zippered pouch labeled Car Kit.

      “What’s all that?” he asked. “Your bug-out gear?”

      She’d seen a cable TV show featuring people who claimed to be prepared for any emergency, including grab-and-go bags.

      “I guess you could call it that.”

      “Drew is one lucky kid.”

      “Oh?” Bianca grabbed the cables, then slammed the hatch.

      “Looks like you’re ready for just about any eventuality, which probably gives him a lot of security if things get crazy.”

      A lucky guess? Or had Logan learned a thing or two from his nephew? Might be nice, she thought, interacting with someone who understood what her life was like. How odd that all those articles and news clips showed an entirely different side of him. The negative reports told her Logan had bowed and scraped to garner media attention. What would those correspondents say if they could see him now, tie loosened and shirtsleeves cuffed, ready for—how had he put it?—any eventuality. Still, there was no escaping the fact that he hadn’t just been a top-notch quarterback. He’d costarred in a few box-office hits and earned the moniker “TV’s Commercial King” by making every product he advertised on TV seem too good to be true. Maybe what she was witnessing boiled down to two words: good actor.

      A gust of March wind took her breath away. If she’d trusted Marty’s forecast, Bianca would have worn a coat over her blazer.

      “Cold?”

      “I’ll be fine.” Shoulders up to fend off the chill, she said, “I’ll get started while—”

      He reached into his front seat and grabbed his suit coat. “First put this on.”

      Tempting as it was to accept it, Bianca said, “No, thanks.” If she got dirt or grease on it, she couldn’t afford to have it cleaned.

      But he draped it over her shoulders anyway. Using his chin as a pointer, Logan added, “You sure you know how to use those things?”

      “These,” she said, “and every other tool in the shed. Except for the chainsaw.” Bianca cringed. “That thing gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

      “Okay, then....” He got into his car and left the driver’s door ajar.

      “Everything turned off?”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “Emergency brake on?”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      Bianca connected one red clamp to her battery’s positive terminal, attached the other to the positive terminal on Logan’s battery, then clipped the black clamp to the negative terminal of her battery and connected the second black clamp to an unpainted bolt on his engine block.

      “Okay,” she said, “I’m going to start the Jeep.”

      She stuck the key into the ignition and hesitated. He probably knew to let her car’s engine idle a minute or two before starting his. Bianca didn’t want to insult him, but she couldn’t afford the time or money to replace their batteries if he didn’t.

      “You know not to start your car right way, right?”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      She couldn’t see him, thanks to the raised hoods, but if his agreeable tone of voice matched his expression, he hadn’t taken the question the wrong way.

      Bianca fired up the Jeep, then hurried to the driver’s side of his car.

      Sunshine lit his face, making him squint as he looked up at her. Bianca stepped aside so that her shadow would block it...but not before noticing the pale dots peppering his nose and cheeks. Freckles? At thirty-five?

      “Think it’s safe to rev ’er up now?”

      She nodded. “Just don’t give it too much gas, okay?”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      When his car started right up, she fist-pumped the air the way she did every time Drew reached a goal...and Logan’s jacket slipped from her shoulders and onto the dirty parking lot.

      Retrieving it, she dusted it off. “See? I had a feeling something like that would happen.”

      Out of the car now, he took it from her and gave it a once-over. “Clean as a whistle.”

      But she could see the grit and grime that had stained the front pocket. Bianca felt duty-bound to do something about it.

      “Just so happens there’s a stack of dry cleaning on my closet floor,” she said, reaching for it. “I’ll drop it off with the rest of my—”

      He held tight. “I told you that it’s fine. But even if it wasn’t, I have an account with the best dry cleaner in town.” He shrugged. “Besides, you already have enough on your shoulders.”

      Before she could ask what he meant, Logan said, “Can I get you to do me another favor?”

      She caught herself staring. “A favor?”

      “I don’t trust this old beast to fire up again when I need it to, so I was wondering if maybe you’ll let me buy you that cup of coffee now to thank you for the jump-start. And to keep you around awhile. For backup. In case this old clunker decides to play dead again when I get ready to hit the road.”

      The mention of his dead battery reminded her that she hadn’t detached the cables. “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she muttered. Silently, she ran down the step-by-step process: remove black clamp from his engine bolt, then black clamp from my battery. Now red clamp from my car and red clamp from his.

      Once