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Connor’s tone was smooth and businesslike. He caught her gaze and held it.
Laurel stood in shock, staring back at him.
.....
Connor could have even tolerated the despicable schemes Phillip carried out to get Connor into trouble, if Phillip had been even the slightest bit kinder to Laurel. Phillip seemed to have no sense of a loving, protective instinct toward his younger sister. To the contrary, he was either blaming Laurel for his misdeeds or trying to trick her into covering up one of his messes. How many times had Connor, older and not nearly as trusting and naive as Laurel, stepped in, feeling the need to safeguard Laurel from her own brother’s machinations? Too many, Connor recollected. He and Phillip had found a lot to fight about. But Connor eventually drew the line at fistfights.
Not that he had ever been afraid of Phillip. Phillip was older, and had been taller and heavier than Connor at the time, but he never got the best of him. It was always Phillip who ran off with a bloody lip or black eye, crying to his father or mother about the rude, crude servant’s son. No, Connor had never feared Phillip, but he had learned to fear his own father’s wrath, for nothing could make Owen Northrup angrier than hearing that Connor and Phillip had gotten in a scrape.
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