“All in a day’s work. I’m going to go see what my boys have been up to. You call me if you need to.”

“I will.”

As Justine started for the door, it opened. She let out a baffled laugh. “It’s hard to get used to. Well, it looks like she’ll keep you company awhile.”

WHILE HIS MOTHER sat with Hope, Ryder tried to work off his mad. The more he worked, the madder he got.

Subcontractors surrounded him, crisscrossing each other, full of noise and questions. Getting in his damn way, and he was fucking sick of it. Sick of needing to know the answers, sick of making decisions, sick of finishing up every goddamn day covered with sweat and dirt.

The next son of a bitch who got in his face was going to—

“Hey, Ry, I need you to—”

He whirled on an unsuspecting Beckett. “Fuck off.”

“If something’s crawled up your butt, you’d better clench. I’ve got—”

“I don’t give a shit what you’ve got. I said fuck off. I’m busy.”

Several members of the crew slid a safe distance away.

“So am I, so suck it up.” Beckett’s eyes narrowed, fired as hot as his brother’s. “If you swing at me, bro, I’m swinging back, but at least I won’t walk off the job.” He turned, pitched his voice to a shout. “Take lunch. Now. Everybody.”

“I run the crew. I say when they break.”

“You want to do this with an audience? Fine by me.”

Ryder ground his teeth. “Lunch. Now. Clear out. Whatever’s going on at MacT’s,” he told Beckett, “deal with it yourself. I’m up to my ass here.”

“I don’t give a single happy fuck what you’re up to. Knock off. Go the hell home. Go beat hell out of your speed bag or whatever.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“And I don’t take shit from you. If you’ve got a problem with the work, or you had some fight with Hope, just suck it, Ry. Yelling at me in front of the men makes you look like a dick.”

“I don’t have a problem. I didn’t have a fight with Hope, for fuck’s sake. Get off my back.”

Beckett walked over to the cooler, flipped up the lid. He took out a bottle of water, threw it at his brother. “Cool off,” he suggested when Ryder snagged it an inch from his face.

Ryder considered heaving it back, then stewed as he twisted the top, gulped water. “Stupid blond bitch comes shoving her way up here, piling on Hope. Slapped her.”

“Say what? Who? Hope slapped some blonde?”

“Other way.” Ryder rubbed the cold bottle over the back of his neck. He wondered that steam didn’t rise off his skin.