The Rebel Daughter (Daughters Of The Roaring Twenties Book 2)

by Lauri Robinson

  “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.

  Exactly what, she didn’t know, but considering the mobsters who used to frequent the Plantation, she assumed bootlegging was involved. It was behind most everything that went on anymore. From small towns to big cities, there was rarely a person who wasn’t somehow and in some way involved in making, selling or running booze.

  Apart from Forrest. Word was there hadn’t been any booze served at the Plantation since his return.

  He hadn’t even bothered to let any of them know when he’d returned home. That would have been enough for her to knock him off the pedestal she’d put him on in her early years if she hadn’t already. It was a good lesson to learn. Never trust a man. Never believe anything could last forever.

  “Twyla?”

  She spun around. The look on Forrest’s face suggested he’d said her name more than once. Huffing out a breath, half wondering, half knowing why her mind had wandered so far from the present, she asked, “Where’s Slim?”

  As soon as the words left her mouth she heard the music, and certainly didn’t appreciate the way Forrest lifted his brows and grinned.

  “Lost in thought, were you?”

  “More like plotting,” she answered. It had always been like this with Forrest. The two of them never fought or argued; they just tried to outwit the other one. It was a game she’d missed.

  He laughed. “If every woman thought they were as smart as you think you are, this world would be one dangerous place.”

  Twyla didn’t have time to tell him it was dangerous, that she’d grown smarter during his absence, because her father chose that moment to walk out the door and cross the wide balcony.

  “Forrest, I want to have a word with you.” Dressed as he always was, in a maroon three-piece suit, black shirt and shining black-button shoes, Roger Nightingale’s presence was strongly felt. However, as formidable as he might appear to others, her father was the one man Twyla did trust. She knew fully what was in his heart. Not even while being banished to her room as soon as the lights had come on had she ever doubted that her father loved her and her sisters. Sure, he spoiled them, bought them anything they wanted from cars to clothes to cosmetics and all things in between. But none of that assured his love. The way he protected them did. Even when he thought they didn’t know that he was doing it.

  Forrest used to be like that, always watching over them. Until... She grabbed his arm. Her father would want to talk to Forrest, find out his plans. As wonderful as her father’s protection was, it was not what she needed right now. Not when Forrest might squeal about the kissing booth and everythin
g else he knew.

  “It’ll have to wait, Daddy. Forrest and I are heading for the dance floor. We need to get this party started. George will only turn fifty once, and we want it to be a party he’ll remember,” she said, hooking Forrest’s arm with hers. She tried to tug him toward the door, but his feet were planted firmly and he didn’t even wobble.

  Twyla cringed inwardly, and when Forrest’s gaze left her father and landed on her, she knew her eyes were full of pleading. She was virtually begging him to leave. She really, really didn’t want him talking to her father.

  Her stomach fell, along with her eyelids when he turned his somewhat regretful gaze back to her father.

  A thundering laugh snapped her eyes open. Her father slapped Forrest’s shoulder playfully. “You never could say no to my daughters any more than I could.”

  Forrest chuckled, too. “That was true.”

  Twyla picked up on the was and Forrest’s tone.

  Her father however, laughed again. “That may be the downfall of us both.”

  Forrest turned to her again and a glimmer of a smile crossed his lips before he said, “Or it could be a crutch, which—” he turned back to her father “—isn’t always a bad thing. A crutch can allow a man to walk when he otherwise couldn’t.”

  Twyla caught a double meaning behind his statement but couldn’t fathom what it was.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” her father said. “Go on. You two hit the dance floor. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “All right,” Forrest said. “I do look forward to talking with you.”

  “But not as much as you look forward to dancing.” Her father laughed again as he waved a hand toward the door. He’d become more of his jovial self the past couple of days, and the broad smile on his face was a welcome sight.

  That was the other thing Twyla didn’t want to see change. Over the past couple of weeks, her father had been overly worried. She assumed Ginger running off to Chicago was a part of it, but believed more of it had to do with the hoodlum Ty had been chasing. She never tried to fool herself into believing that her father’s business wasn’t a dangerous one. Lucrative, but dangerous. Twyla also understood it could all end, too. The money, the parties. Nothing was forever, but there were things she’d fight tooth and nail to not lose.