The smile came as a welcome relief. "He'd have hated it."

"So what? Women have men leaving the toilet seat up, or not watching their aim after one too many beers. We deal with it. He retreats from tears, and always has. The other two handle them okay, but not Ry. If you slice your finger off, he's your man. But cry about it, he's gone."

"I don't hold it against him."

"Me, I like a man who'll sop up a few tears, as long as the woman doesn't blubber every time she gets that paper cut. I'm not going to ask if you want my advice. You'd say yes even though n.o.body really wants advice. So I'm just going to give it to you. See that he listens to you. Feelings need to be expressed, Hope. They aren't always understood the way people like to a.s.sume."

She poured hot water over the tea bag in the cup. "He's a good man, like I said. A clever one. Smart, hardworking, and he tells the truth whether you like it or not. If he's not going to tell the truth, he doesn't say anything. He's got a sweet side that doesn't always show, and a surly one that too often does."

She brought the tea to Hope, angled her head. "And he's never been serious about a woman in his life. He respects them, enjoys them, appreciates them, and he's always been careful to keep his feet right under him. He's slipping some with you, in case you haven't noticed."

"No, I'm not ... Do you think so?"

"I do. He's going to send you flowers, and he's going to hope the storm's pa.s.sed by the time he comes around." She bent down, kissed the top of Hope's head. "Don't let him get away with it. Now you drink that tea, take a little time for yourself."

"Thanks. Thank you, Justine."

"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 d.a.m.n way, and he was f.u.c.king sick of it. Sick of needing to know the answers, sick of making decisions, sick of finishing up every G.o.dd.a.m.n day covered with sweat and dirt.

The next son of a b.i.t.c.h who got in his face was going to-

"Hey, Ry, I need you to-"

He whirled on an unsuspecting Beckett. "f.u.c.k off."

"If something's crawled up your b.u.t.t, you'd better clench. I've got-"

"I don't give a s.h.i.t what you've got. I said f.u.c.k 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 a.s.s here."

"I don't give a single happy f.u.c.k what you're up to. Knock off. Go the h.e.l.l home. Go beat h.e.l.l out of your speed bag or whatever."

"I don't take orders from you."

"And I don't take s.h.i.t 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 d.i.c.k."

"I don't have a problem. I didn't have a fight with Hope, for f.u.c.k'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 b.i.t.c.h 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.

"What the h.e.l.l's going on?" Owen came in, still wearing his tool belt. "I had two of the crew come into MacT's and tell me there was a catfight in the parking lot, and the two of you were going at it in here."

"Does it look like we're going at it?"

Owen studied his brothers. "It looks like you want to. What the h.e.l.l's going on?"

"Ry was just telling me. Some blonde slapped Hope."

"Jesus Christ. A guest hit her?"

"Not a guest." And, Ryder realized, he was making a mess out of this. "Wickham's new wife, the blond b.i.t.c.h. I came out to talk with the rep for the exterior paint system, and I see Hope talking to this fancy blonde, over by Carolee's car. It looks tense, full of drama. Sounds like it because the blonde's yelling her G.o.dd.a.m.n head off. I'm not getting into that, and the next thing I know, the blonde's hauling off and slapping Hope. You could hear the f.u.c.king crack across the lot."

"For G.o.d's sake," Beckett muttered.

"By the time I got over there, it looked like the blonde might take another shot. She's yelling all manner of s.h.i.t about how Hope's having s.e.x with that a.s.shole, how she slept with him to make manager, and other loads of bulls.h.i.t."

"Sounds like the a.s.shole deserves the blond b.i.t.c.h," was Owen's opinion.

"That may be, but she kept going after Hope, threatened to go to her boss and say how she was banging Wickham to get back down to D.C. That's when Mom got into it."

"Mom was there." For the first time Beckett smiled, showed his teeth. "I didn't hear any ambulance."

"She must've walked out during, I didn't see her, but she told the blonde to get gone and make it fast. There was more in there. Threats to call the cops."

"Mom said she'd call the cops?" Owen wanted to know.

"The blonde. And I said we could do just that. Anyway, she left. It was a f.u.c.king mess." He drank again. "She left."

"Okay." Beckett took off his cap, dragged his hands through his hair. "Harsh, ugly, and done."

"She made Hope cry."