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

by Lauri Robinson

  Amazing!

  The air, the speed, the freedom!

  She twisted left and right, to see all she could around the propeller moving so fast it was a solid circle in front of her. Blue sky and white fluffy cotton-puff clouds filled her vision, and she laughed once again. Glancing over the edge, she saw Lester’s farm. That, too, was amazing. How the distance made everything look like miniature toys, even the cows standing in the barnyard. She could see Bald Eagle Lake, too, off to the side, and she was reminded of the snow globe Norma Rose had containing a miniature version of Niagara Falls. Ty had won it for her at the amusement park.

  This was better than any old snow globe. This was the real thing.

  Nothing on earth could ever compare to this. Not the beauty, the thrill, the freedom. Not even all night dances at the world’s largest speakeasy.

  Something jostled, and one wing tipped. Twyla grabbed the edge of the plane as her stomach plummeted to her toes.

  Chapter Six

  Relaxing a touch, and realizing Forrest was merely turning a corner, so to speak, in midair, Twyla eased her hold on the side of the plane and once again examined the ground far below them.

  She could see for miles. Trees and fields, homes and roads, cars and several more of Lester’s dairy cows. Forrest had turned the plane all the way around so they were now flying toward the resort, and far ahead she could make out the buildings of White Bear Lake.

  The most spectacular thing was how Bald Eagle Lake looked. She’d lived near it her entire life, but hadn’t realized how large it was. From up here, it looked like a huge tadpole, with a long tail that snaked north. Her home was on the south side, the head of the tadpole, and the island was smack-dab in the center of the big oval. It also amazed her that there was more than the one big island. Several smaller ones created a line that went almost to the very tip of the tadpole tail. There were houses and roads, the depot and highway, and everything appeared mere inches apart rather than the miles she knew them to be.

  In no time, the resort was below them. She could even see the hidden back road the runners used to transport shine off the railroad cars to the barn, as well as the road that ran parallel to the main highway. On the ground it was well hidden by trees, but up here, it was as noticeable as a run in a stocking, even where it trailed along the long and narrow northern edges of the lake. She could see the cabins, too, all twenty of them, and the summer kitchens, and outhouses, the boathouses and docks.

  Forrest waved a hand, pointing downward.

  Standing on the shore of the island, she could see Norma Rose and Ty, although she couldn’t see their faces. It had to be them. No one else had rowed out to the island. Twyla waved, and she assumed it was Ty who waved back before they were out of view due to the trees that covered the small chunk of land. Soon the lake was beneath them again, with water so clear and blue she thought she could see the bottom in places.

  They flew to the far tip of the tadpole tail before Forrest skillfully glided the plane around and in the other direction. It all seemed so effortless, and was so very amazing that Twyla was totally in awe. They flew all the way to town, where she saw the streets laid out between houses and other buildings—White Bear, Goose and Gem Lakes, the Plantation and the amusement park. She’d never imagined this was what it all looked like, and could only envision all that Forrest had seen, flying as much as he had. To so many places, too. All along the east coast, down south, out west. Mitsy claimed Forrest had flown all the way across the United States, and Twyla could only wish that someday she’d be able to say she had, too.

  He flew toward the cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul. The size of them amazed her, as did the twisting, turning Mississippi River. He turned the direction of their flight before they reached the cities, and the farm fields caught her attention then. They looked like squares on a quilt.

  Time seemed to go by as fast as they were flying. Before she knew it, she could see Lester’s farm again. Disappointment threatened to overtake the joy filling her, but she refused to give it room to grow. She was too happy for that. Furthermore, she had no idea how much work it must be for Forrest to keep the plane flying. It must take a lot of concentration. His intelligence had always amazed her, and that amazement had just increased tenfold.

  As smoothly as a bird swoops to the ground, the plane eased downward, and with little more than a couple of bumps, they were on the ground, rolling toward the building. Unable to stop herself, Twyla squeezed her eyes shut, afraid they might run right into the wooden structure. She opened them as she felt the plane turn.

  When the plane came to a complete stop, the building was straight behind them. That, too, astounded her. Forrest certainly knew how to maneuver the plane, both in the air and on the ground.

  Her ears were still ringing, and it took a moment before she realized the noise of the engine had stopped. Twisting about, she grinned and held up one thumb.

  He smiled and pushed his goggles up onto his forehead.

  “So?” was all he said.

  “So?” Twyla tried to shove up her goggles, but all she managed to do was pinch the skin at her temples. The strap was so tight they wouldn’t budge. Forrest had climbed out of his cockpit and stood on the frame of the lower wing as he had when he’d helped her climb in. Reaching over, he pulled the goggles off her eyes and pushed them onto her forehead.

  “That,” she said, grabbing his forearms, “was the most amazing thing ever. Ever. When can we do it again?”

  “You didn’t get sick?” he asked.

  “Sick?”

  “Yes, a lot of people get sick to their stomach or light-headed the first time they go up.”

  Twyla shook her head. “My stomach fell clear to my toes a couple of times, but I never got sick.” She stared deeper into his luminescent brown eyes. “You remember that about me, don’t you, Forrest? How I never got sick on amusement park rides or swings, or when the waves would get so high the rowboat would list.”

  Goodness, but he was so very handsome. The way he stared back made her heart speed as out of control as the little wooden boat they’d once used to row out over the lake.

  “Yes,” he said. “I remember.”

  Twyla didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Forrest removed his hands from her goggles. She emptied her lungs, but wasn’t disappointed, not in the least. She then attempted to release the straps he’d secured around her waist and over her shoulders, but seemed to be all thumbs.

  “I’ll get it,” Forrest said, pushing her hands aside.

  “When can we go up again?” she asked.

  Still grinning, he winked one eye, an adorable action that made her heart skip a beat. She’d forgotten how much he’d always filled her with something a bit unnerving. That feeling was unique, no matter how hard she’d tried to find it again—and she had tried. She could spot a handsome man at one hundred yards, and make sure they noticed her, too. Yet not one of them had made her feel the way Forrest could. No other man had ever been of his caliber, either in looks or the way he made her heart and stomach flutter.

  “Here, climb out,” Forrest said, reaching out to assist her.

  She held on to his shoulder with one hand while lifting one leg and then the other over the edge of the plane. The pants were big and cumbersome, but eventually she managed, and then followed Forrest’s directions as to where to step. Once he’d jumped to the ground, he reached up and grasped her waist.

  Setting both hands on his shoulders, she held on while he lifted her down. Her legs wobbled slightly when her feet touched the ground.

  “Give yourself a moment to get your sea legs back,” he said.

  “We weren’t on a boat,” she needlessly pointed out, while not letting go of his shoulders.

  “I know,” he said. “But it’s similar. Give yourself a moment for your equilibrium to return.”


  Flying had nothing to do with her unsteadiness. It didn’t have anything to do with the way her mouth went dry when their gazes met, either.

  She bit into her bottom lip. Hard.

  Time stopped. Her mind went blank, and for some unexplainable reason, she felt rather dizzy. This was Forrest. Her old best friend. Her sister’s ex-boyfriend. The man Norma Rose insisted they all had to hate and whom she’d claimed was as much their enemy as his father had been. Twyla closed her eyes against the idea.

  The brief and teasing sensation of his lips touching hers filled her with an entirely new thrill. She’d waited her entire life for this, and despite all she knew, or thought she knew, she had to make the most of it.

  Their lips brushed against one another’s, several times, in tiny light kisses that didn’t last long enough for her to react. Unable to stand the teasing, she grasped his face with both hands and caught his lips with hers.

  Having hosted a kissing booth, Twyla knew a lot about kissing. Not that she wanted to remember it all. As a matter of fact, she’d recently told Norma Rose she’d rather vomit in her mouth than kiss some of the men she’d kissed again.

  That certainly was not the case with Forrest. His lips were warm and moist and heavenly sweet, and they fit against hers with such perfection she stretched onto her tiptoes to increase the pressure.

  The kiss was like a dream she never wanted to wake up from, until her mind tried to turn it into a nightmare by pointing out this was Forrest she was kissing. The one man she could never love. He’d broken her heart. He’d flipped her entire world upside down, and there was nothing to say he wouldn’t do that again. That he wouldn’t just up and vanish some night without a word to anyone.

  She’d grown up since he’d disappeared the first time, and this time around she was too smart to be fooled. Forrest was attempting to rekindle their childhood, when they’d been friends, not enemies. Taking her flying, kissing her—he was trying to manipulate her onto his side. She just didn’t know why, but she soon would.

  Two could play at his game.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and slanted her face, so her lips gave room for her tongue to teasingly lick the seam between his lips, enticing them to part. They did, but just as she thought she’d gained the upper hand, his tongue snagged hers in a wrestling match that had her gasping for air.

  Not about to give in, she held on tighter and met each swirl, each taste, with one just as bold and hot as his. They were once again in competition, a game of cat and mouse that went deeper than ever before, and Twyla found herself fighting internal sensations that could very well flip things around and make her the mouse instead of the cat.

  Elation flared when Forrest was the one to break the kiss, breathing heavily. However, as the elation of knowing she’d won rose, so did something else. The look in his eyes held an odd bewilderment, and she knew what it was. He was questioning where she’d learned to kiss like that.

  Once again Twyla found herself in the midst of an internal battle. This time against a rush of shame. There was nothing to be ashamed of. It was the 1920s. Women could kiss men all they wanted. After all, as she’d said more than once, men were like shoes and a woman had to try on several pairs before she found the one that fit perfectly. Comfortably.

  Right now, though, she didn’t believe her own sayings quite as strongly as she had in the past, especially when Forrest turned around, without saying a word, and started walking back toward the building.

  Her heart was still hammering in her chest, and her breathing was not as controlled as she’d like, so Twyla turned about to give herself a moment to gain control before she spoke. Her gaze landed on the plane, and the adventure she’d just experienced rejuvenated her. Oh, yes, two could play at this game Forrest had challenged her to, and there was nothing that said she couldn’t have the time of her life while playing. After all, that was what she was all about. Having the time of her life, and making sure Forrest didn’t disrupt that again, remained her goal.

  After tugging the goggles off her head, and unfastening and removing the hat, Twyla spun around. “So how do we get this plane back in that shed?”

  Forrest had removed his goggles, hat and flight jacket. They were lying on the ground near the back of the plane, but he seemed to have disappeared.

  Yelling toward the shadows inside the building, she repeated, “How do we get this plane back in there?”

  Forrest appeared in the doorway. “We push it.”

  Attempting to act as nonchalant as he, she unzipped the jacket he’d loaned her. “Push it?”

  “Yep. Push it.”

  Creating a pile next to his, she removed the jacket and then slid the suspenders holding up the pants off her shoulders. Once the pants were on the ground, she smoothed her skirt, admitting to herself that she was thankful the material hadn’t wrinkled. After readjusting her scarf, she rubbed her hands together. “All right, then, let’s get to pushing.”

  “Not so quick,” Forrest said. “I have a postflight inspection to do first.”

  “You inspected everything before we left,” she pointed out.

  “Yes, that was called the preflight inspection.”

  Considering he was on the other side of the plane, and she couldn’t see his face, Twyla made no comment. Knowing Forrest, he was likely completely serious. Safety, even when they’d just been playing, had always been first on his mind. That did seem odd. Someone who’d always been cautious and careful was now flying around in the air. Then again, maybe that’s why he was flying and had never crashed.

  He was soon done with his inspection, and Twyla helped—although she didn’t do much—maneuver the plane backward until it was once again parked inside the shed he called a hangar. Then she put wooden blocks up against the wheels while he rolled a big barrel over and cranked a hand pump to put fuel into the plane.

  “Why are you putting fuel in now?” she asked.

  “So it’s ready to fly the next time I want to take her up.”

  “How do you get gas out here?” she asked.

  “Scooter delivers it when I call and ask him to,” Forrest answered.

  Scooter Wilson ran the fueling station up on the highway between the resort and White Bear Lake, and had been a friend of all of theirs for years. “That’s nice of him,” she said, for lack of anything better to say. Her mind was still plotting, and wondering, and recalling just how closely connected Forrest had once been to her life.

  Before she gave herself time to consider the consequences, she asked, “Why’d you leave town like that, Forrest? After that night with Norma Rose.”

  He didn’t answer right away, acting instead as if fueling the plane took all his concentration. That was fine. She could wait out a snail.

  Twyla spent a fair amount of time retying her scarf while she waited. When Forrest let out a sigh, she held in a grin, knowing his answer was coming.

  “I didn’t leave,” he said, hooking the gas nozzle inside the barrel. “Not on my own, as everyone thinks.”

  Twyla wasn’t sure if hope or disbelief flared inside her. “You didn’t?”

  “No.” He pushed the barrel back through the wide front doors.

  She followed him around the building to where he secured the barrel on a cement block platform near a tree. “What happened?”

  He looked around and then wiggled the barrel as if making sure it wouldn’t tip over before covering it with a tarp. “After Galen returned home from taking Norma Rose to your place, he and I got in an argument. I left, planning on going to check on Norma Rose, but a few of Galen’s men stopped me in the back parking lot of the Plantation.”

  Twyla understood just how some men stopped people and her hands started to shake. “Did they hurt you?”

  * * *

  Forrest hadn’t planned on telling her. Hadn’t
planned on a lot of things. His mind was still spinning from kissing her. Twyla Nightingale knew how to kiss. Her lips could turn a man inside out. He hadn’t expected that to happen to him. Flyboys were used to kissing women, and some would say he’d kissed more than his fair share over the years. Not a single one—short peck or long kiss—had knocked his socks off.

  Before today.

  As the cat was out of the bag and he couldn’t put it back in, he shrugged. “You could say that.”

  “I don’t want to say that.”

  She’d stepped up beside him and was looking at him with more sympathy than he ever wanted to see.

  “Then don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” he said, shouldering around her.

  “I wouldn’t have to ask if you’d just tell me,” she answered, following on his heels.

  “Why would I tell you?”

  She grabbed his arm. “Because we’re friends.”

  He stopped, but his mind kept flying around faster than his plane.

  “We’re old friends, Forrest,” she said. “Childhood friends who never had secrets from one another.” She’d taken a hold of his arm with her other hand, too. “How badly did they hurt you?”

  “Bad enough,” he answered, trying to sound vague although it was useless. He’d rarely, if ever, been able to keep a secret from her. One way or another, she’d always found a way to wrangle information out of him. That certainly hadn’t changed.

  He was surprised when she didn’t persist.

  Instead, she asked, “Where’d you go? After they hurt you?”

  “To my aunt Shirley’s in Rochester,” he said.

  “For how long?”

  He sighed. She was as relentless as ever. But sincere, too, which was the part he couldn’t overlook. The compassion on her face made him care too much about her. Knowing she wouldn’t quit until she had her answers, he gave in completely. “Over a year. It took that long for me to learn to walk again.” Saving her from another set of questions, he added, “My legs were broken in several places, as were my arms. Uncle Silas, Shirley’s husband, is a doctor. He oversaw my healing and wouldn’t let me leave until I was as good as new.”