The man had insisted on teak, though Ethan had told him pine or cedar would have done the job well enough for hull planking. The man had money to spend on his hobby, Ethan thought now—and money to spend on status. But he had to admit, the teak looked wonderful.

His brother Phillip was working on the decking. Stripped to the waist in defense against the heat and humidity, his dark bronze hair protected by a black capwithout team name or emblem and worn bill to the back, he was screwing the deck planks into place. Every few seconds, the hard, high-pitched buzz of the electric driver competed with Ray Charles’s creamy tenor.

‘‘How’s it going?’’ Ethan called over the din.

Phillip’s head came up. His martyred-angel’s face was damp with sweat, his golden-brown eyes annoyed. He’d just been reminding himself that he was an advertising executive, for God’s sake, not a carpenter.

‘‘It’s hotter than a summer in hell in here and it’s only June. We’ve got to get some fans in here. You got anything cold, or at least wet, in that cooler? I ran out of liquids an hour ago.’’

‘‘Turn on the tap in the john and you get water,’’ Ethan said mildly as he bent to take a cold soft drink from the cooler. ‘‘It’s a new technology.’’

‘‘Christ knows what’s in that tap water.’’ Phillip caught the can Ethan tossed him and grimaced at the label. ‘‘At least they tell you what chemicals they load in here.’’

‘‘Sorry, we drank all the Evian. You know how Jim is about his designer water. Can’t get enough of it.’’

‘‘Screw you,’’ Phillip said, but without heat. He glugged the chilly Pepsi, then raised a brow when Ethan came up to inspect his work.

‘‘Nice job.’’

‘‘Gee, thanks, boss. Can I have a raise?’’

‘‘Sure, double what you’re getting now. Seth’s the math whiz. What’s zip times zip, Seth?’’

‘‘Double zip,’’ Seth said with a quick grin. His fingers itched to try out the electric screwdriver. So far, nobody would let him touch it or any of the other power tools.

‘‘Well, now I can afford that cruise to Tahiti.’’

‘‘Why don’t you grab a shower—unless you object to washing with tap water, too. I can take over here.’’

It was tempting. Phillip was grimy, sweaty, and miserably hot. He would cheerfully have killed three strangers for one cold glass of Pouilly-Fuisse. But he knew Ethan had been up since before dawn and had already put in what any normal person would consider a full day.

‘‘I can handle a couple more hours.’’

‘‘Fine.’’ It was exactly the response Ethan had expected. Phillip tended to bitch, but he never let you down. ‘‘I think we can get this deck knocked out before we call it a day.’’

‘‘Can I—’’

‘‘No,’’ Ethan and Phillip said together, anticipating Seth’s question.