Johnna Delaney glared at Matthew. She had the same bold, dark features as her brothers, and at the moment those features were twisted into a frown. “I can’t imagine what father was thinking of when he wrote this will.” The evening meal was finished, and the Delaney siblings had all gathered in the study to discuss the future. “Well, I’m not exactly champing at the bit to work the ranch,” Luke drawled lazily as he poured himself another drink. Luke, Mark’s younger brother, was a sometime musician, a sometime carpenter and an all-the-time hell-raiser. Had it been a hundred years earlier, he probably would have been a gunslinger. As had been the custom, particularly in the past three weeks, the conversation swirled around Mark, rather than included him. Nobody asked his opinion, offered him suggestions or spoke directly to him at all. He was virtually invisible, as he’d felt for most of his life as the middle son sandwiched between the two strong personalities of his older and younger brothers.
