The Rebel Daughter
“I thought you didn’t need a date,” he said, nodding to another couple he recognized who’d just walked through the front door—the local sheriff and his wife. Nightingale sure knew how to play the game. Galen should have taken lessons.
“I don’t need a date,” Twyla said coyly, gracefully sweeping a hand toward the front desk, indicating that was where the couple could purchase their meal tickets, which included complimentary drinks. No one had to be told that; it was a given. The resort didn’t need the lure of a blind pig to bring in drinking customers, or the ploy to make the government think it was all legal. People poured through the doors knowing full well drinks would be flowing all night. Even lawmen.
Twyla was peering back up at him and batting those long lashes. Forrest bit back a grin. She did make a dazzling hostess—a glimpse of the glamour people could expect all evening—however, all the charm she had in that sweet little body wouldn’t work on him. He was immune by self-inoculation, if there was such a thing, but he could let her think differently for now. Toying with Twyla, challenging her every word and action, had long been a favorite pastime, and he’d missed it.
Last week, when he’d attended Big Al Imhoff’s anniversary party, Norma Rose was the only sister he’d seen. She’d disappeared shortly after it started. So had Roger. Forrest had left early, too, but he couldn’t do that tonight, and connecting himself to Twyla would give him more chances to do what had to be done. There were things that needed to be cleared up between their families and it would help if he knew for sure if Roger had orchestrated Galen’s arrest.
To his benefit, Twyla had never been able to keep a secret. At least, not from him.
It wasn’t Twyla’s intake of breath, but the flash of fear that raced across her face that had him shifting his gaze to the hallway that led to the resort’s offices. A cold lump formed in his gut. Norma Rose stood in the hallway, in a shimmering purple dress with a single feather poking out of the matching headband that circled short waves of blond hair. She’d fared well, and for a moment the past returned. He wondered how different things could have been. If he hadn’t been who he was and the Nightingales hadn’t been who they were. Unfortunately he couldn’t change any of that back then. He couldn’t change it now, either.
Norma Rose wasn’t alone. A tall man stood beside her. Oblivious to anyone watching, they were looking at each other and laughing and in truth, looked happy, very happy. The man was obviously the lawyer, and for a moment Forrest wondered if he should leave and telephone Roger to say what he had to say. But he wanted to look the man in the eye when they spoke, so his work was cut out for him. All thanks to Galen Reynolds, the man his mother had married years ago and the reason all the Nightingale sisters hated him.
Norma Rose and the lawyer, who Forrest had heard was called Ty Bradshaw, made a striking couple. Despite the way Norma Rose felt about him, he did hope Ty made her happy.
She reached out and plucked something, a piece of lint perhaps, from the lawyer’s shoulder and then kissed his jaw. The man’s hand roamed over her side familiarly and Forrest’s hands wanted to ball into fists. Galen had ruined so much. It was past time it stopped. For good.
The tapping of a toe snagged Forrest’s attention and he turned to the woman at his side. Twyla’s lips were pursed and her little nostrils flared as she breathed in and out. He shoved his hands into his pockets. Galen would not win this time. “You may not need a date,” Forrest told Twyla, “but I do. I hate attending these shindigs by myself.”
A softness entered her eyes, but disappeared quickly. “Really?” she asked sarcastically. Her gaze bounced from Norma Rose and the lawyer to him.
Forrest grinned, though it was as false as the floorboards of a bootlegger’s truck. “Everything’s more fun when you have a partner.” That part was true. Twyla had always been fun and adventurous. Then again, they’d only been kids. She could have changed, and might well have, considering the way her blue eyes turned brooding and rather cold.
Yet, to his surprise, she nodded.
“All right, then.”
“All right then,” he repeated, for no other reason than to get in the last word, knowing that it would irk her. Norma Rose still hadn’t noticed him. He was watching out of the corner of his eye, trying to make it look as if he wasn’t. She wouldn’t be impressed to see him at Twyla’s side. From all he’d heard over the years, she’d like to see him six feet under.
Twyla, however, was watching him. She knew exactly what he was doing—and not doing. That much hadn’t changed; keeping a secret from Twyla hadn’t ever been any easier than her keeping one from him. Under her unyielding gaze the blue tie that matched his suit, which he’d struggled to tie in an even bow, started to choke him. Forrest reached up and tugged at his shirt collar, but found little relief.
He tugged harder. It didn’t help, but the smile that appeared on Twyla’s face did. Her eyes had changed, too. They were no longer shooting daggers. Instead they’d softened with something he couldn’t quite explain. Sympathy? He didn’t want that. Not from her. Not from anyone.
“Here,” she said, grasping his hand and pulling it away from his neck. “You’re twisting your tie.” She straightened it and asked, “Isn’t that awfully tight?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
With deft fingers, she undid the bow and pushed his chin up when he tried to look down. A moment later she had it retied and he was no longer choking.
“How’s that?” she asked.
“Fine, thank you.” No one had tied his tie in years and the intimacy of it twisted something inside him. He’d missed that. Intimacy. At one time he’d had a close relationship with all the sisters.
Twyla’s smile never faltered as she turned toward the door again, greeting more couples and directing them to her sister at the front desk.
That was Josie at the desk. She was the tomboy of the family. The one who’d dug worms and caught frogs beside him, and together they’d chased Norma Rose and Twyla, even Ginger at times, dangling their latest finds. Being only two years older than Norma Rose, he’d grown up playing with all four sisters. His mother and Rose Nightingale had been the best of friends at one time. Right up until Rose had died. The flu epidemic had taken their baby brother, too, and his. That was the thing Galen had never gotten over. The loss of his only son.
Forrest shoved his hands in his pockets again, where they balled into fists. His gaze went back to Twyla. She was chatting with a woman who, despite the warmth of the June evening, had a fox fur draped around her neck. Twyla’s laughter, light and carefree as it was, caused dread to churn in his stomach.
Galen Reynolds, who almost everyone thought was his father—only he, his mother and aunt and uncle, besides Galen, knew it wasn’t true—had all but crucified and burned Norma Rose on a stake years ago. She’d overcome that, the entire family had, and Forrest had to wonder if he shouldn’t just walk out the door. It was over. He should let sleeping dogs lie, as his mother had told him to do when he’d returned home once a couple of years ago. Even now, every time they talked, she’d ask if he’d seen any of the Nightingales and didn’t miss an opportunity to point out it wouldn’t be fair to Norma Rose to dredge up the past.
The trouble was, he’d needed the Nightingales as a kid, and he needed them now, in more ways than he cared to admit. For a moment Forrest considered Twyla, how stirring up the past might not be fair to her, either, but if he didn’t, Galen would win, and that was what he had to stop.
If things had remained as they’d been, he’d have let it all go. He would have forgotten what Galen had done to Norma Rose, to him, and eventually, perhaps he would have reclaimed his friendship with the Nightingales, but as it was, everything had changed again.
He had to do this.
Twyla was as bold as she was beautiful, and he’d make sure she didn’t get hurt. He knew something else, too; her anger toward him, or her dislike, was a ploy. She was just being Twyla. She hated to lose, or to be called out. Their mother had burned plenty of decks of cards and games because of Twyla. She’d pitch a fit every time she lost or got caught cheating, and into the woodstove the games had gone. In truth, she could be a brat when she wanted to be.
Now that he thought about it, Twyla could be the most beneficial to him. She fought to the death but was known to flip sides, and having her on his side would all but guarantee his success in drawing out the information he needed to gain.
Convinced he was doing the right thing, Forrest turned toward the hallway. Norma Rose and Ty were gone. Scanning the open doorway into the ballroom, he took a step to see past the crowd.
“Wandering away already?”
Coming up with the first excuse he thought of, he turned back to Twyla. “Just thinking I should go and see if Slim has everything set up.”
Her rather stoic expression said she didn’t believe that any more than she believed monkeys could fly. “Well, don’t wander too far,” she said. “We’ll be sitting down for dinner soon. I’ll have them add a place for you at the family table.”
“I wouldn’t miss that for the world,” he said. On impulse he flicked the end of her pert little nose. “Not for the world.”
Chapter Two
Less than half an hour later, Forrest found himself right there at the family table, sitting directly across from Norma Rose with Twyla on his left and Josie on his right. There were eight of them in total. Roger Nightingale sat at the head of the table and Palooka George sat on the other end. Ty Bradshaw sat on Roger’s right, opposite Twyla, with Norma Rose beside him. Palooka George’s wife, the woman with the fox fur around her neck and named Dolly, sat on Norma Rose’s other side, across from Josie.
“Thought you’d have stopped out before now, Forrest. I’ve missed seeing you around,” Roger said. “I’m glad to have you back in town.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ve been busy,” he answered. “But thanks to Twyla, I’m here tonight.” Forrest turned to her with a smile that was a bit mocking. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“You’re welcome,” she said demurely. “I’ve always been benevolent, and I hate to see anyone eating alone.”
The family members at the table reached for their glasses or turned to each other, clearly trying to appear as if they hadn’t heard her jibe.
Forrest’s smile didn’t falter. It had always been this way between the two of them. A competition. There had never been a prize, other than getting the best of each other. “Nice one,” he whispered next to her ear.
“I thought it fitting.”
“It didn’t draw blood,” he told her quietly.
“I wasn’t attempting to,” she said, taking a sip from her wineglass. “You’ll know when I am. You’ll need a tourniquet.”
His laugh drew everyone’s attention, including Norma Rose’s. He lifted his glass. “May I propose a toast?” Norma Rose’s startled look held a frown. He could understand why, as their parting hadn’t been pleasant. All the same, Forrest smiled. “For George’s birthday.”
“Hear! Hear!” Roger said. “To George.”
Having been a professional boxer for years, Palooka George was full of stories—animated ones—which entertained everyone at the table while the meal was served. The man was no longer boxing. He was now the leader of a different kind of ring, headquartered in Chicago. Plenty of his cutthroat boys were here tonight, along with several well-known dames who were as hard as the men they clung to. Forrest recognized some faces. These were men who used to visit the Plantation on a regular basis, and Forrest took note of the curious stares generated by his seat at The Night’s table.
All five courses of the meal consisted of delicacies that few in the area would ever have tasted if not for the spectacular chefs Nightingale’s employed, and each course was paired with an accompanying alcoholic beverage. However, each of the Nightingale women had been served only half a glass of wine at the beginning of the meal. After that, they’d been provided nothing but water.
He’d also noticed how Twyla eyed the glasses the men and Dolly consumed, with an almost longing look. Making sure everyone else was engrossed in one of George’s tales, Forrest leaned over. “Remember when we snuck into your grandfather’s basement and took sips out of several of his wine casks?”
Her cheeks turned almost as red as her hair had been right after her dye job. “Shush up,” she said under her breath.
“We didn’t get caught,” he reminded her.
“You didn’t get caught,” she corrected. “Norma Rose found me throwing up after you left. I thought she was going to take a switch to me.” Taking a drink of her water, she added, “Although I doubt I would have felt it.”
Forrest was torn between smiling and frowning. He’d never known she’d gotten sick, or been in trouble, yet could remember she’d been very drunk. So had he. He hadn’t thought about that for years.
“Are you finished?” he asked, nodding toward her plate.
A good portion of the sugary pastry dessert was still on her plate, but she nodded. “Yes. You?”
His plate was empty. “Yes.” There wouldn’t be any business discussed at the table, not the kind he wanted to discuss with Roger, yet he couldn’t come up with a logical excuse to leave. Instead his mind was dredging up a few other secrets that involved him and Twyla, although none of the others included her grandfather’s wine.
“Want to go check on Slim?” she asked. “I’ve had enough boxing stories.”
He grinned. She’d always been honest to a fault. Or blunt. “I’ll make our excuses,” he said, laying his napkin over his plate. After explaining that he and Twyla were going to see to the music, he thanked Roger for his hospitality, wished George a happy birthday and nodded to the others as he stood to pull out Twyla’s chair. He purposefully didn’t do more than glance in Norma Rose’s general direction. She seemed sincerely taken with the lawyer, and Forrest wasn’t here to cause her any trouble. Reuniting friendships with any of the Nightingales beyond tonight wasn’t part of his plan. The repercussions of what he had to do would likely make that impossible.
Loaning Slim Johnson to them had been an excuse to visit when he’d needed one. Plus, Slim deserved the opportunity. He was a good musician and the small weekend crowds at the Plantation were nothing compared to the ones at Nightingale’s. Slim was hoping the chance to play here might give him as much luck as it had given Brock Ness.
With his hand resting on the small of Twyla’s back, Forrest guided her into the ballroom. Slim had been playing music while folks ate but had left the stage a short time ago, taking a break while he could, before the dancing started. There’d be no resting then.
As they walked, Forrest allowed another thought to cross his mind. “Where’s Ginger?”
Twyla’s answer was delayed, and she didn’t look at him when she said, “In Chicago with a friend.”
Both were sure signs she was lying, at least partially. Forrest may have been gone for several years, and many things may have changed, but Twyla’s inability to lie to him hadn’t. The fact that Roger Nightingale wouldn’t allow one of his daughters out of his sight hadn’t, either. Forrest may not have had any contact with the family since he’d returned, but the Nightingales were celebrities in these parts, and folks talked. He hadn’t heard Ginger was out of town, which meant it was hush-hush.
* * *
“Looks like Slim’s out on the balcony,” Twyla said, directing Forrest in that direction. She had to stay on her toes when it came to him. A moment ago she’d almost let it slip that Ginger was in Chicago with Brock. No one outside the family knew about that and it had to stay that way. Being next to Forrest was affecting her mind.
The setting sun glistened across the lake as she allowed him to escort her outside. She did want to speak with Slim, but getting Forrest away from her family was a priority. Norma Rose didn’t appear to be upset by his presence at the family table, which was odd. For years, Norma Rose had blamed Forrest for everything and swore she hated him. Up until the moment Ty appeared. He didn’t seem upset, either. Neither did her father. The only one who’d looked at her as if she’d lost her mind when she led Forrest to their table was Josie, and that was who Twyla decided she should steer clear of tonight. Though Josie did somehow seem to know everything that went on, she didn’t know everything, and keeping it that way would be best.
Slim, a man who wasn’t exactly what she’d call slim, was leaning against the railing, looking out over a lawn decorated with manicured flower beds and a water fountain before the ground gradually sloped toward the lake, where a swimming beach and boathouses filled the shoreline. Rather short and pudgy, Slim had pleased the crowd last weekend with his ability to play several instruments. His singing wasn’t all bad, either, when it came to the slow ballads that some of the older folks liked dancing to.
“Quite the gala you have going on tonight, Twyla,” he said as she and Forrest approached.
“Thank you. Palooka George has been a friend of my father for years, and he expected nothing less than the best.” Tossing a glance at Forrest, she added, “I’m sure you won’t disappoint any of us.”
Forrest grinned, which irked her.
Slim grinned, too, but he sounded sincere when he said, “I hope not.”
She stepped forward to rest her arms on the wooden rail, hoping Forrest wouldn’t follow. The warmth of his hand on her back had burned her skin. Right through the sequins of her dress. Maybe the tiny bits of metal were the reason why his touch had felt so hot. Then again, it could just be her fury. Keeping him away from Norma Rose was seriously going to interrupt her good time tonight. She’d noticed how his eyes had rested on her sister during the meal. That alone had made her stomach ache. His gaze hinted he wanted to renew the relationship he’d ended when he’d left town years ago. That would not happen. Not on her watch. She’d just gotten her life back and wasn’t going to lose it again. Most definitely not over some old flame.
He’d stepped up on the other side of Slim, and the two of them started talking about guitar strings and how Slim had restrung his instrument for tonight. For the most part, Twyla ignored them, still trying to get her mind and body in sync after Forrest’s little walk down memory lane. She hadn’t needed the reminder about her grandfather’s wine cellar. Not now. Not tonight. Back then, when they all used to play together, Forrest had been a part of the family—a mixture of the big brother she’d never had and the boy she’d wanted to grow up and marry. That part—the marrying part—had dissolved when it was clear Norma Rose was the sister he wanted. Having him as a brother-in-law would have been the next best thing to a girl in her early teens. Therefore she’d accepted it readily enough and gone on to search for her own knight in shining armor.
Just when that search should have hit its peak, Prohibition was introduced. One would have thought that would have increased her opportunities of meeting fascinating and interesting men, but in her case, it threw up a roadblock faster than if she’d been a bootlegger driving an old jalopy in downtown Minneapolis. That city was as dry as an empty bottle. An odd thing, considering all one had to do was cross a bridge into St. Paul to enter a city as wet as the Mississippi River, which separated it from Minneapolis. Prohibition seemed to have separated the two cities far more than anything else ever had.
Like many others, it hadn’t taken long for her father to capitalize on the new law. His work at Hamm’s Brewery had helped. He knew the ins and outs of the world and those in it, and used all of that to turn Nightingale’s into a highfalutin resort that rivaled others nationwide. Men poured into the place like leaves falling off the trees in October, but rather than being able to rake them in, she and her younger sisters had become little more than prisoners, locked in their gilded cages atop the largest speakeasy in the nation, watching all those men come and go.
Forrest was the reason Norma Rose wasn’t locked away like her, Josie and Ginger. The two of them, Forrest and Norma Rose, had never really dated, it was just known they’d be together. After finishing the private high school he’d attended, Forrest had gone to college, but by then he had a car, so he was home more often than the previous years. He’d spent a good portion of the days he was home at their house. Back then, her family had still lived in the old farmhouse on the other side of the barn located across the resort’s parking lot, and Forrest had always been welcome.
It wasn’t until he’d graduated from college that things had changed. He’d been gone for months and her entire family had been looking forward to seeing him. They’d all gone to his graduation party, even her father, which had been unusual. Galen Reynolds and Roger Nightingale had never seen eye-to-eye. Their relationship became worse after that night. The rest of the sisters had already gone home, leaving Norma Rose behind for Forrest to give a ride home.
It had been a scene she’d never forget. The way Galen had hauled Norma Rose into the house that night, cursing and shouting.
Galen had never liked any of them, but after the flu epidemic had taken many lives, including his five-year-old son, August, he’d really started hating all of the Nightingales. He claimed the girls’ mother had killed August by exposing him to the flu.
Forrest’s mother, Karen, didn’t agree with her husband, but she’d never said that in front of him. No one ever said much in front of him. He was too mean. His evil glares used to put the fear of the devil in all of them.
When Galen had hauled Norma Rose into the house that night, their father had ordered all of the girls upstairs. The walls hadn’t prevented them from hearing Galen calling them gold-digging doxies. Twyla had feared for her father’s life that night and had been thankful after Galen had left and she’d snuck downstairs to find her father unscathed.
The feud really started then. Galen spread rumors about Norma Rose, calling her all sorts of names. Though things calmed down some over the years, the rivalry hadn’t completely stopped until last year, when her father, by then far wealthier than Galen Reynolds ever hoped to be, had seen that the man was run out of town.
The damage had been done to Norma Rose. After that dreadful night, she’d flipped into a tyrant whose goal became proving to the world that none of the Nightingale girls would ever be doxies.
Twyla couldn’t say she wanted to be some man’s doll, but she couldn’t stay locked up any longer. She wanted to live fancy-free. A man wasn’t needed to do that, but they did make things more fun. A woman just had to know how to play with them. To Twyla’s way of thinking, one never knew what was in someone else’s heart. Especially a man’s heart. And that’s where the problem lay. In a person’s heart. That’s what made someone who they were. They could think all they wanted, or say all sorts of things, but their actions showed what was in their heart. Who they really were.
Take Forrest, for instance. He’d supposedly been in love with Norma Rose, but he certainly never showed it. Rather than standing up for Norma Rose against his father’s blasphemy, he’d left town. Without a word he’d just vanished, and hadn’t retuned until last year, after his parents had gone to California. It had been hard to believe. For years Forrest had protected all of them. Not that they’d ever been in real danger, but he’d squashed spiders and shooed away garter snakes.
She snuck a peek his way, where he stood next to Slim.
Rumors, mostly started by those who’d been in cahoots with Galen Reynolds, claimed Galen had gone to California for his health. Others said he’d run away with his latest doxy. Only those close to Twyla’s family knew Roger Nightingale had been behind Galen’s move. She wondered if Forrest knew that, and what he thought about it. From the tidbits she’d heard—because her father didn’t ever let them hear much of anything—the film company Galen bragged about owning in Hollywood was nothing but a front for something much more illicit.