Unending Devotion (Michigan Brides #1)(72)

He may have bantered with her about it, but the truth was he’d never so thoroughly and completely cared about a woman before—not even Rosemarie.

“Son.” Dad had risen from his chair. The angry lines had disappeared, replaced by a calm fa?ade. “Ye are forgetting to introduce us to yer guest.”

For all his ambition, Dad had the decency to be respectful toward women—at least when they were in his presence.

“This is Lily Young.” Connell smiled at her. “She works with Oren Evans, a photographer with a shop over on Washington Avenue. She came north with Oren to help him take pictures among the camps and to look for her sister.”

Dad nodded at her. “Nice to meet you, Miss Young.” And even though his eyes narrowed with the frustration of Connell’s involvement and all it had cost him, he was polite enough not to say anything more about it.

“I’m pleased to meet you too, Mr. McCormick.”

Connell shuffled around the table toward her.

But Tierney sat back, pushing his chair into Connell’s path. “Don’t forget to tell Dad Lily’s the whore you were living with up in Harrison.”

Lily gasped softly. Her face paled and she took a step back, her eyes widening with horrified embarrassment.

Dad’s jaw clenched and his eyes darkened.

Tierney grinned up at Connell and then took a slurp of coffee.

Fury set Connell’s blood on fire. He grabbed Tierney by the front of his shirt, crunching the wrinkled cotton into a fist. “I told you not to call her that ever again.”

“Or what? You gonna beat me up?” Tierney’s face held no fear—only scoffing.

Suddenly Connell saw himself reflected in his brother’s eyes—a weakling. He was the first to give in to pressure, the responsible one who did what was expected, the kind one who never fought back.

Tierney thought he was weak.

Was he?

Connell gripped Tierney’s shirt harder, pulling him up and suspending him above his chair by at least two inches. “I oughta give you the licking you deserve.”

“I’m so scared.” Tierney’s grin crooked to one side, daring Connell to do something.

Lily took another step back out of the room. The pain in her face reached out and gripped his heart, wrenching and slicing it so that her pain became his.

How could he stand back and do nothing? Especially when Tierney was attacking her honor?

“Good ol’ Connell,” Tierney said. “Go ahead. Hit me. I dare you.”

Connell lifted Tierney another inch.

“Or are you too nice to fight me in front of your whore?”

“She’s not a whore!” Fury tore through Connell again, and he knew he could do no less than fight for Lily’s honor.

He slammed his fist into Tierney’s gut with all the strength he’d developed lifting logs and cutting trees.

Tierney grunted at the unexpected blow and fell into his chair. Surprise flitted across his face.

But before his brother could stand up and swing back, Connell pounded his fist into him again, his resentment finally unleashed. He knocked Tierney backward in his chair so that he crashed against the floor. Tierney rolled and tried to scramble away, but Connell jumped on him. And this time he swung his knuckles into his brother’s face, clobbering him first in one eye and then the other, then in the mouth.

Tierney roared with sudden rage and took a swing at him, his fist connecting with Connell’s eye.

At the jolting pain, Connell reared his head. But Tierney’s other fist slammed into his mouth with the force of a man well practiced in the art of brawling.

Pain radiated through Connell’s jaw, and the sting of his tooth slicing into his lip took his breath away.

The sticky metallic taste of blood oozed onto his tongue.

For an instant Connell feared the fight would end in his humiliation, that Tierney might overtake him, and that Dad and Lily would witness the defeat.

But he only needed to picture the humiliation in Lily’s face at Tierney’s insult and his strength returned with renewed effort. He couldn’t let Tierney win. Everything within him demanded that he avenge Lily’s honor and teach Tierney never to insult her again.

He struck his brother again and again. The heat of his anger blinded him to anything except the fact that Tierney needed to suffer.

“That’s enough, son.” As if from a distance, Dad’s voice broke through the fury.

But Connell couldn’t stop himself from slugging Tierney in the stomach, only faintly realizing his brother wasn’t fighting back anymore.

“Enough.” Dad’s hands gripped him. With a strength that belied his age, he heaved Connell off Tierney and tossed him away like good-for-nothing cull lumber.

Connell bumped into a pedestal. The Oriental vase toppled and smashed to the floor. His shoulder slammed into a porcelain plate mounted on the wall. It too crashed against the hard wood.

He caught and steadied himself, his breath coming in heaving gasps.

Tierney lay sprawled next to his overturned chair—unmoving.

Fear spurted through Connell. Had he killed his brother?

Dad shoved Tierney with the tip of his boot.

Tierney groaned.

“He’ll survive,” Dad said.

A sick load dumped into Connell’s stomach. What had he done? What had come over him to resort to such violence?