Beckett grinned, raked fingers through his mop of chestnut brown hair. “The boys want to name them Logan and Luke.”

“Wolverine and Skywalker.” Amused, Ryder considered. “Melding X-Men and Star Wars. Interesting choice.”

“I like it. Clare laughed it off at first, then the idea got a hook in. They’re good names.”

“Good enough for Wolverine and Skywalker.”

“I think we’re going with them, which is cool. My ears keep ringing though. You know, like they do after an explosion.”

“Two’s just one more than one,” Owen pointed out. “It’s about planning and scheduling.”

“Because you have so much experience with rug rats,” Ryder said with a snort.

“Everything’s about planning and scheduling,” Owen countered. “Speaking of which, let’s check the plans and schedules.” He pulled his phone off his belt.

Ryder decided on another donut, let the sugar and fat soothe him through the volley of details. Inspections, permits, material orders and deliveries, rough-ins, finals, shop work, site work.

Ryder kept it all in his head as well, just maybe not as precisely columned and tallied as Owen. But he knew what had to be done and when, which men to assign to which job, and how long the steps should take. On the inside, and—given the vagaries of construction—the outside.

“Mom’s looking at equipment,” Beckett put in when Owen paused. “You know, treadmills and cross-trainers and all that happy shit.”

“I’m not going to think about that.” Ryder looked around. Crap walls, he thought, crap floors. Just crap. Cross-trainers and dumbbells and freaking yoga mats were a hell of a long way off.

“We may want to think about the parking lot.”

Now Ryder’s eyes narrowed on Owen. “What about the parking lot?”

“Now that we’ve got it all, instead of patching we should tear the bitch up, level it, add drains, resurface.”

“Hell.” He wanted to object, just on general principles, but they needed the damn drainage. “Fine. But I’m not thinking about that now either.”

“What are you thinking about?”

Rather than answer, Ryder just walked out.

“Is he bitchier than usual?” Owen wondered.

“Hard to tell.” Beckett looked down at the drawings again. “It’s going to be a pain in the ass—and mostly in his—but it’s going to work.”

“Ugliest building in town.”

“Yeah, it wins that prize. The good news is anything we do’s an improvement. As soon as the Dumpster gets here, we can—”

He broke off as Ryder came in with a sledgehammer and a crowbar.

“Get your own,” Ryder told them and, setting the crowbar aside, chose a wall at random. Swung away. The hard, undeniably satisfying thwack send drywall chips flying.

“The Dumpster . . . ” Owen began.

“It’s on its way isn’t it?” Putting his back into it, Ryder swung again. “According to the holy word of your sacred schedule.”

“We should bring in some of the crew,” Beckett considered.