“That was a given, too. She always said that he was a good boy like Uncle Ernest, and I was the bad child like my father. I guess I proved her right, didn’t I?” Matthew’s chuckle crackled like an icicle in a child’s hand. “I didn’t want to end up like Daddy. I wanted Mama to love me like she did Isaac, but I got told that so much that I figured, ‘What the hell. I’ve got the name; I’ll just prove her right.’”

Sweat rolled down Flynn’s face and dripped off his jaw. Was he fooling himself into believing that he could change the course of nature?

“How did that make you feel?” Flynn asked.

“After a while I didn’t really give a damn,” Matthew answered. “What brought all these questions out anyway? You never asked me anything like this before.”

“We’ve just been talking a lot about her. Moving into the house has brought back memories. I wondered how you felt about the way things were done when you were here,” Flynn said.

“It was life. I didn’t whine or pout because I wasn’t the favorite. I’m like Dad. Isaac is like Mama. Nothing could change that. It’s just the way things are, and she reminded me every day of it,” Matthew said. “You need to get out of there, Son. That place isn’t healthy.”

“I like it here, and I’ve got a part-time job that takes me away from the house in the afternoons. I’m hoping it turns into a full-time job later,” Flynn told him. “I’m helping Jackson Devereaux build furniture.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Matthew’s voice shot up and got a lot shriller. “You’re trained to manage oil rigs, not piddle around with junk like that.”

Flynn hadn’t expected much support, not when his father had always been affiliated with the oil business in one way or another. “I have found that working with my hands is relaxing. For the first time in ages, I whistled on the way home yesterday evening.”

“And just how many women are you going to meet working out there in the sticks? You’re thirty-one years old. It’s time for you to settle down. Remember that you are the last living young O’Riley in our family. Having a son to carry on the family name is on your shoulders,” Matthew fussed at him. “Marry a good woman, have a child or two or three until you get a boy, and then . . .”

Flynn butted in before his dad could finish: “And then leave her like you did.”