The statement was meant for effect, and effect it got. Declan gave Matthew his most Declan of faces. He generally used one of two expressions. The first was Bland Businessman Nodding at What You’re Saying While Waiting for His Turn to Talk and the other was Reticent Father with Irritable Bowel Syndrome Realizes He Must Let His Child Use the Public Restroom First. They suited nearly every situation Declan found himself in. This, however, was a third expression: Exasperated Twentysomething Longs to Yell at His Brothers Because Oh My God. He rarely used it, but the lack of practice didn’t make it any less accomplished or any less pure Declan.

“I don’t have the capacity for your identity crisis this morning,” Declan said. “I’m trying to get us a car while remaining off the grid and avoiding getting completely screwed by our irresponsible father’s associates. So I’d appreciate you penciling it in for a weekend instead.”

Only recently had Declan actually begun to express his feelings about Niall Lynch out loud, and Matthew didn’t like that change, either. He said, “You can’t tell me how to feel. I don’t trust you anymore.”

Declan got a tie. He applied ties to his person like most people applied underwear; he clearly didn’t think himself decent to appear in public without one. “I’ve already apologized for keeping the truth from you, Matthew. What would you like? Another apology? I can work on crafting one more to your liking in between the rest of my work.”

“You lied,” Matthew said. “It’s not just going to be okay.”

Declan was somehow already fully dressed in full corporate splendor. He studied Matthew for a moment, and his face was serious enough that Matthew wished that it was like old times, that he still thought his older brother had all the answers and could be trusted implicitly. “Go get a sweater. Let’s go for a walk and check the mailbox.”

Proper rebellion, a real Ronan-like rebellion, would have required Matthew to storm off at this request, but Matthew merely sulked off with all the animals following. He fetched his llama hoodie and a box of animal crackers before meeting up with Declan in the mudroom.

“You’re shoveling that hand-cat poop out of my room,” Declan said serenely to Matthew as he stepped outside.

Matthew slammed the door behind them.

Outside, it was beautiful; it was always beautiful. The Barns was located deep in the foothills of western Virginia, hidden in a protected fold of hill and valley beneath the watchful eye of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Matthew had grown up in the old white farmhouse. He’d rambled over these fields. He had played in the various barns and outbuildings that spread right up to the trees that surrounded the property.