“That dog'll roll in the snow, run in the snow, eat the damn snow, but he wont throught it to shit. I dont clear the path, he shits right by the door. Why is that? Ryder asked.Owen replied, "Hence the name."The name of Ryder's dog...Dumbass...”

“Hold on.” Beckett shot out a hand, shoved Ryder back. “Are you saying Mom and Willy B are . . .”“That’s what I’m saying. And they have been for a couple years now.”“Fuck,” Ryder muttered.“Don’t say fuck when he’s telling us about Mom and Willy B. I don’t want that verb and those names together in my head.”

“Ryder - the oldest, Avery continued. He's standing as job boss on this project. Owen's the detail guy, runs the numbers, makes the calls, takes the meetings. Or most of them. Beckett's an architect.”

“Told you not to tell her.”“That's not how I work things. That's not how you build a relationship.”“Build a relationship.” Ryder snorted as he sent the drill whirling again. “You've been reading again.”“Blow me.”

“Where the hell was she? Grant knew he'd go mad if he asked himself the question one more time.Where the hell was she?From the lookout deck of his lighthouse he could see for miles. But he couldn't see Gennie.The wind slapped at his face as he stared out to sea and wondered what in God's name he was going to do.Forget her? He might occasionally forget to eat or to sleep,but he couldn't forget Gennie. Unfortunately, his memory was just as clear on the last ten minutes they had been together. How could he have been such a fool! Oh,it was easy,Grant thought in disgust.He'd had lots of practice.”

“Some women, he thought, had the power to turn a man in the opposite direction from what he wanted. It seemed his fate to run up against them. And, damn it, to care.”

“Like he cared about a lot of stupid settlers and Indians and soldiers who hung around out here before he was even born. Hell, before his prehistoric grandparents had been born.Who gave a shit about Crazy Horse and Sitting Bullshit. He cared about X-Men and the box scores.”