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That had sliced Galen deeper than any knife. He’d thought by taking over the Plantation and the amusement park he’d become the big man in town. It hadn’t worked that way. Galen didn’t have the personality it took, nor did he have a savvy business mind. A man with no past or family, at least not any that he’d claim, Galen had arrived in White Bear Lake with nothing but the clothes on his back. A month later he’d married the girl of the richest man in town. Forrest had to wonder what people had thought about that but figured, because his mother and Galen had immediately left for a honeymoon abroad that lasted over a year, no one had given it much thought.
When they’d arrived back in town, he’d been with them as a tiny infant, and his grandfather had died a couple months later. Most folks, just like Roger, knew Hans Swenson had left the Plantation to Forrest, but what most of them didn’t know was Hans had never given Forrest’s mother guardianship of the holdings. His mother’s sister—Aunt Shirley—had been given that duty. That, too, had goaded Galen to no end. Not that it had stopped Galen from finding a way to weasel away the money. From the time Forrest was old enough to pen his name, Galen was making him write letters to Aunt Shirley, telling her his tuition fee had been raised or he needed new clothes. Shirley thwarted Galen whenever she could, by sending clothes instead of money or mailing the fee directly to the school. If not for her, he might never have attended either the private boys’ academy or college.
Forrest turned back around and his gaze landed on a familiar face that made his skin crawl. The scar that slashed the man’s cheek from temple to chin was impossible to miss and unforgettable. Nasty Nick Ludwig. The man raised an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth; the other side of his face was fixed in a permanent frown due to the scar.
Forrest lifted his chin, his only acknowledgement of recognition. Nasty Nick was the kind of mobster he hadn’t expected to see here. There were gangsters and then there were lowlifes, the kind of men Galen always associated with. Ludwig was a lowlife. He’d been in jail with Galen just last month out in California. Forrest’s gut churned. Although he hadn’t needed the confirmation, Ludwig’s release proved Galen would soon be out, too.
There was no telling who could get hurt. His aunt and uncle swore the fact Forrest could still walk was nothing shy of a miracle. All Forrest had at this moment was hope that Roger would act, and fast. The man had connections Forrest didn’t. He should have come over here before tonight, but up until the phone call from his mother, there hadn’t been a need. He still couldn’t be sure she was telling the truth. She always seemed to have one eye covered when it came to Galen.
Ludwig moved slowly through the crowd, not talking to anyone, simply observing like a rat on the prowl. He was exactly the type of person Galen chose to have in his employ. Someone who wouldn’t think twice about beating up another person—man, woman or child.
Galen claimed Roger had run him out of town to take over his business, and he wasn’t talking about the Plantation. Roger hadn’t become known as The Night by mistake. He was ruthless, but his dealings didn’t stink like those of some others. Roger’s goal was money. Galen’s had always been power. There was a big difference.
Forrest understood that, yet he couldn’t deny Roger had come a long way in the past few years.
“I thought you’d left.”
Despite the darkness and gloom filling his thoughts, Forrest grinned. He shifted slightly to meet the glimmer of the shimmering blue eyes looking up at him. “You thought wrong.” He’d been set to leave after talking to Roger, but the man had asked him not to. Said he wanted to talk to a few people and then they’d talk again.
Twyla glanced left and right before she grabbed his elbow. “Come on.”
“I’m not dancing again,” Forrest said, although he let her pull him away from the rail. He shouldn’t have. Just talking to her could be as dangerous as dancing. That sweet, sparkling dress she had on was lighting a flame in places he didn’t need a fire built.
“Neither am I,” she said. “My feet are killing me. Palooka George has to weigh three hundred pounds and I swear he thought my toes were part of the dance floor.” She led him toward the long set of wooden stairs that descended to the grass beneath the balcony. “I thought boxers were supposed to be sure-footed, hopping around the ring like they do.”
As if his feet couldn’t be stopped, he walked down the steps beside her. “When have you been to a boxing match?”
She opened and closed her mouth before huffing out a breath. “I didn’t say I’d seen one, I said I thought.”
“Aw-w-w,” he said, drawing it out. “So you weren’t at the boxing match last month at the Rafters in St. Paul?”
She stumbled slightly. Forrest reacted quickly, catching her by the waist before she tumbled headfirst down the remaining steps. His actions were for naught, considering the way she shoved his hands aside. Which was just as well. He wanted to irritate her. An angry Twyla wouldn’t be the threat a sweet, worn-out Twyla would be.
“Of course I wasn’t at the Rafters,” she insisted, bounding down the last few steps.
“My mistake,” he answered dryly. She’d been there. He’d heard it from more than one person. He grinned, too, at her delusions. She truly had no idea how many people watched her every move. Nothing she’d done was a secret.
After glancing up at the still crowded balcony, she grabbed his hand. “Come on.”
Folding his fingers around hers was as natural as a sunrise. “Where are we going?”
“Some place we can talk.”
He continued walking beside her, but said loud enough to be heard, “Your father’s men are stationed everywhere, and I will not be caught in the bushes with you.”
“Hush up,” she hissed. “We aren’t going to the bushes, but we need to talk.”
“As long as we stay out in the open.”
“Chicken?” she asked smartly.
“Smart,” he answered smoothly.
She led him to the water fountain and continued around its circular cement base to where the splaying water would hide their location from the resort’s patrons, but not from any of Roger’s men, who walked the paths and the perimeter of the yard. Lowering herself onto the ground, she sat with her legs stretched out before her and her back against the fountain’s concrete wall.
She patted the ground beside her. “Have a seat.”
Fires licking at very specific parts of his body said he shouldn’t, but when it came to Twyla his common sense and judgment were compromised. He’d always been able to control himself, though, and still could. Lowering himself to the ground, he appreciated the coolness of the water shooting into the air and the concrete against his back. He could use more salvation, but would take what he could get. “So what do you want to talk about?”
“Not want,” she said. “Need.”
“So what do you need to talk about?”
“What did you tell my father?”
Forrest had figured that was what it was. Letting his gaze wander to the lake, he held his silence. Keeping her on edge was enjoyable, but that wasn’t why he couldn’t say anything. Even as a kid, he’d never told anyone about the back-door dealings and cruelty that took place behind the papered walls of the Plantation. He’d feared that if he ever did tell someone, they’d be hurt. It was still that way.
Twyla had the patience of a gnat. It hadn’t been more than fifteen seconds before she asked, “Well? What did you talk to my father about?”
“About flying for the army and delivering airmail.”
“What else?”
The mixture of white starlight and yellow moonbeams caught in her eyes and he chuckled at how the mixture softened her glare, making her look about as fierce as a poodle.
“It’s not funny,” she said. “Now, what did you tell him?”
“Let’s see,” Forrest said, tapping one index finger against another. “I didn’t tell him about the boxing match at the Rafters.”
“I was never—”
“I didn’t tell him,” Forrest interrupted, while tapping his next finger as if counting down, “about the kissing booth, or about the Yellow Moon speakeasy in Minneapolis, or the Pour House in—”
“How do you know—”
“Or how you told him you were spending the night at Mitsy’s and she told her father she was spending the night out here, when in truth both of you spent the night in a boxcar in St. Paul because you missed the last train back to White Bear Lake.”
Lips pursed, she snapped her head forward. With the moonlight glistening against her profile, her eyelashes looked two inches long. He had to swallow.
“It’s impossible for you to know any of that,” she said.
“It can’t be impossible.” From the moment he’d hit town, he’d made it his job to know how she was doing. How all of the Nightingales were doing. Not doing so would have been impossible. The urge to protect Twyla and her sisters from Galen was even stronger now than it had been way back when.
She turned to look at him. “Yes, it is. You weren’t even around town when— You must be lying.”
“When they took place?” He shook his head. “The kissing booth was just a couple weeks ago. The boxing match last month.”
She folded her arms and beneath the sparkling dress, her breasts rose and fell as she sighed heavily. “Did you tell him any of that or not?”
Forrest picked a blade of grass and stuck it in his mouth, attempting to look thoughtful as she peered up at him. He was thoughtful, but he was attempting to not think about how she’d grown into the beautiful woman he’d merely caught glimpses of years ago. He recognized something else, too. The weariness in her eyes. She was far more tired than anyone could possibly know. He could understand why; her dancing alone would have exhausted most people. Tossing the blade of grass aside, he answered, “Not.”
She sat up straighter, and looked rather startled. “Why?”
“I said not,” he clarified.
“I know what you said. Why didn’t you tell him?”
Chapter Four (#ulink_48cd6924-a176-56dd-a041-af46425d622f)
Twyla couldn’t believe Forrest hadn’t told her father everything. For a moment. Then it dawned on her as bright and unstoppable as a new day. Of course he hadn’t said anything. If he was in love with Norma Rose, he wouldn’t want to alienate her father by saying anything bad about any of the Nightingale girls. The fact he hadn’t said anything should make her happy.
Well, it didn’t. Instead a hard knot had formed in her stomach. One she didn’t appreciate, but one that also reminded her that Forrest being in love with Norma Rose had always been a problem. The fact it still was, was no surprise.
“I didn’t tell him,” Forrest said, “but that’s not to say I won’t.”
“And who’s to say I won’t tell him what you’re up to?” she asked, mainly out of spite.
“Which is?”
She rolled her eyes and turned to settle her gaze on a yellow shaft of moonlight shimmering against the water. The sight was familiar; her bedroom window faced the lake and she’d spent many nights staring out at the water, listening to the music below and dreaming of the time she could be a part of all the fun. Like it had many times in the past, the soothing and tranquil image made her lids heavy. She had a reason to be tired. The sun had barely risen when she’d crawled out of bed this morning to finalize the preparations for Palooka George’s party. The party was still going strong, and therefore she needed to be, too. It was what she’d always wanted, and she wasn’t about to complain now that she had it. Exhausted or not.
Twyla seemed to catch her second wind right then, a little internal blast of energy that told her the party wasn’t over. She wasn’t done. The chef best leave the oven on because there’d be no poking a fork in her. She wouldn’t be done for hours. Her spine grew stiff and firm as she deliberately turned her head slowly to deliver her best I-dare-you-to-deny-it gaze. It was time for Forrest to know that she knew the real reason he was here. “Which is,” she repeated, “that you are still in love with Norma Rose.”
Forrest lifted a brow and the smile that appeared on his lips grew slowly, methodically. Twyla felt her shoulders sinking and she held her breath as she tried to decipher his reaction.
“Still in love with Norma Rose?” he said.
It sounded like a question, and she responded, “Yes, you’re still in love with Norma Rose and you’re trying to break her and Ty apart.” For good measure, she added, “It won’t work.”
A full smile curled his lips as he turned toward the lake. It remained there, his grin, at least from what she could see by staring at the side of his face. He had a dimple in his cheek, a tiny one that was a mere a fraction of his handsomeness. She liked dimples, but no matter how hard she tried or how long she stood before the mirror twisting smiles and frowns in all directions, she couldn’t make one form in her cheeks. In all the years Forrest had been gone, she’d never forgotten his dimple. That hard lump in her stomach twisted into a double knot.
“That’s why you told me to stay away from your sister,” he said, more a declaration than a question.
Snapping her attention away from his dimple, Twyla sighed. There wasn’t anything she could do about the knot. “Yes.”
“And that’s why you agreed to be my date tonight.”
She nodded, yet inwardly wanted to shout that a meal and a dance didn’t constitute a date. Not a real date. The kind she’d always dreamed of. One that included hours of fun and adventure. Maybe a kiss or two.
“Aw, Twyla,” he said slowly. “I assure you, I’m not in love with Norma Rose.”
A blank formed in the space occupied by her brain. It was a moment or two before she could speak. “Yes, you are. Why else would you be here?”
He stared at her for several long and rather intense moments, before saying, “Maybe because I’m set on the Plantation becoming a rival to your resort.”
Her mind kicked in fully. He was attempting to fool her. That wouldn’t happen ever again. She let out a snicker. “The Plantation hasn’t rivaled Nightingale’s for years, even before your father went to jail. He practically ran that place into the ground with his Hollywood prostitutes and button men.”
“Yet Galen was never busted, was he? No federal agents ever came sniffing around his door.”
Twyla thought it odd that he called his father by his given name. She didn’t remember him doing that in the past. His tone was notable, too. Almost as if he was disgusted his father had never been caught. “Because his button men had machine guns at every entrance,” she said. “Sheriff Withers may be growing older, but he’s not stupid.” Recalling something she’d once overheard, she added, “Besides, it was all a show for your father. He wasn’t involved with real gangsters. They’d have planted him five feet under the first time he cheated them, and everyone knows your father wasn’t an honest man. My father proved yours wasn’t invincible.”
“Or, maybe your father wanted to keep him alive. Sometimes that’s worth more.”
Twyla could have sworn that hairy, creepy spider was back and crawling its way slowly up her spine this time. The conversation had taken on a completely different tone. She leaned forward to peer around the side of Forrest’s face and look him in the eye. In the darkness, his eyes looked black instead of brown, but not even the night sky could hide the dullness they now held.
“Why do you say that?” she asked. “Like that?” she added, withholding a shiver. Surely he didn’t believe her father was in cahoots with his. That would be insane. They hated each other. Forrest hadn’t been around when things had been really bad. When Galen had bad-mouthed all of the Nightingales, claiming they were gold diggers. No, Forrest had already up and left. Vanished without a word to anyone. That had been before Prohibition, before her father started making money, but that was also when her father started refusing to let them leave the house. The exact time her world had turned into a dark and lonely place.
Forrest shifted slightly, turning her way, and she held her breath, sensing he was about to answer. When a smile slowly curved his lips, her breath stalled in her lungs.
“I am not in love with Norma Rose, Twyla.”
She leaned back against the fountain’s concrete wall and huffed out a breath, totally flustered he’d brought the conversation back to that. “Yes, you are,” she insisted. He’d always been in love with Norma Rose and probably always would be. There was no mystery there, but there was something behind his other comment—about her father keeping his alive. He knew something. A deep, dark secret he wasn’t prepared to share. If she knew what that was, she’d have some real power to hold over him, perhaps enough to make him stay this time. Inside her head she pinched herself, a reminder that she needed to get rid of him, not make him stay.
“Why would you care if I was?” he asked.
She took a moment to contemplate how she wanted to answer that. This was Forrest, a man she’d known all her life, and despite what she told herself, a single day hadn’t gone by when she hadn’t missed him. Missed the fun they used to have. Swimming and fishing, playing hide-and-seek, and card games when it was raining. He’d been a permanent fixture at their house in the summertime. He’d been someone she believed would always be there. Right up until his disappearance. That’s when she learned nothing was forever.
At first she hadn’t believed it and refused to listen when Galen spouted that it was Norma Rose’s fault that Forrest had left town. As time went on and no one heard a word from him, Twyla had to start believing, especially when Norma Rose voiced her hatred of Forrest.
A flicker of hope had been lit inside Twyla when she’d heard he’d returned to town last fall. For weeks she’d stared out the window, waiting for him to visit, but he never had. He’d refused to talk to her, too, when she’d called about hiring Slim. Last weekend, when he’d come out for Big Al’s anniversary party, she’d purposefully stayed clear of him.
Hating him had been much easier when he’d been gone. The thrill of spying him from afar at the amusement park or seeing his airplane overhead, soaring around like an eagle in the sky, did something unique to her insides.
Flying had to be the ultimate freedom. Up there, you weren’t attached to anything. The closest she’d ever come to that would have been years ago, when they used to go swimming. Forrest had tied a rope to a tree branch hanging over the water, and she’d loved those few seconds that occurred between the time she let go of the rope and when she landed in the water.
She’d told him that once, when it was just the two of them jumping off the rope—her sisters had been afraid of it, even Josie—and Forrest had agreed with her. Maybe that was why he took up flying.
Her mind had gone full-circle. Turning to look at him again, she asked, “Why do I care?”
He nodded.
Her stomach tightened and her throat grew a bit thick. Her answer had to be about her. That way, Forrest would believe her. It also was the truth, even if it didn’t feel as important as it had before. “Because I want more excitement than hosting a kissing booth out of the back of the cotton candy shed. While you’ve been out seeing the world, flying planes, I’ve been stuck here.” Pushing off the ground, she rose to her feet and waved a hand toward the resort on the other side of the water fountain. “I live at the biggest, most fabulous speakeasy in the nation, but I’ve never been able to enjoy it.”
“Why?”
“Because of Norma Rose,” she snapped.
“Why are you blaming Norma Rose for that?”
“Why?” Twyla planted both hands on her hips. She had her reasons, and was sticking to them. “Because of what you did. Because of the way your father acted and the things he said, Norma Rose became fixated on making sure that none of us would become doxies.”
“It’s all my fault.”
It was all his fault. He’d left when she couldn’t stand losing something else. Yet, with the way he said it, with such meaning and implication, something jabbed at Twyla. Something invisible, but with as much power and pain as anything real could ever have.
Forrest climbed to his feet and used one hand to push aside the wayward hair that had flopped over his forehead. “Is that what you want, Twyla? To be a speakeasy doxy?”
He made that sound immoral, which added to the sting inside her. Twyla spun around, not liking the hint of disgust in his eyes. “No, and I’m not a doxy.” Twisting back around, she added, “But I am twenty-three. Too old to be told what to do and when to do it.”
