Lauri Robinson - The Rebel Daughter

Pulling her attention away from her sister’s outfit, Twyla repeated, “Forrest is still in love with Norma Rose.”

“I doubt that,” Josie said.

“I don’t,” Twyla insisted.

Josie shook her head. “Forrest caring about Norma Rose is a moot point. She’s in love with Ty.”

“Forrest could make her question that,” Twyla replied. “Maybe cause her and Ty to break up, and turn everything back to how it was.”

“You really believe that?”

“Yes,” Twyla said. “I don’t want things to go back to how they were. And you shouldn’t, either.”

“I don’t, and they won’t,” Josie said confidently. “Norma Rose and Ty will soon be married. Which means we’ll both be needed more than ever to keep this place running.” Taking the glass from Twyla’s hand, Josie added, “Now stop being silly. We have over three hundred people here tonight. You need to be in the ballroom ensuring they are having a good time.”

Twyla wanted to insist she wasn’t being silly. She was being serious. Josie needed to take her blinders off. Things changed in little more than a heartbeat. They’d all seen that. Josie, though, wasn’t one for bickering. Or idle talk. “What are you doing?” Twyla asked, and then followed up by asking, “I mean, aren’t you making sure the guests are having a good time?”

“I am,” Josie said. “But the ice sculpture is melting and water is dripping onto the floor. I’m on my way for a mop to clean it up before someone slips.”

“I have to know what they’re talking about,” Twyla said, reaching for the glass her sister had confiscated.

Josie hid it behind her back. “No, you don’t. Stop worrying about Forrest and go see to the guests, or I’ll tell father and Norma Rose you’re resorting to your childish ways.”

Twyla growled, but Josie had already spun around and was marching down the hallway toward the kitchen and storeroom, where she’d find a mop.

Balling her hands into fists, Twyla spun around and walked the other way. Passing her father’s office was torture. Not knowing what was being said behind that door would haunt her all night. Forrest was thwarting her. If he told her father all about her escapades, and Josie told him about her listening at the door with a water glass, she’d be banished to her room until she turned thirty.

It wasn’t fair. Surely wasn’t. The world was at her fingertips and it was as if Forrest had stomped on her freshly painted nails right before she’d been able to grasp it all.

Music and laughter caught her attention as the hallway gave way to the front entrance. The doors to the ballroom and dining room were open, and she paused to survey the scene. People dancing, drinking, smoking and having a good time were laid out before her. This was the world she wanted. She gave a slow, lingering glance down the hallway. Forrest might be telling her father all he knew, but that wouldn’t stop tonight.

A smile formed on Twyla’s lips. Tonight she’d prove who was the most spectacular hostess of the family. Her father couldn’t banish her to her room then. Not after she ensured Palooka George had the best birthday bash ever. She entered the ballroom with all the persistence of a bee buzzing toward a fresh-blooming flower. She knew how to gather nectar when needed.

Twyla headed straight for the bar, where she downed two shots of Minnesota’s finest corn whiskey. Then, with the whiskey burning her throat and belly—even though Reggie had watered it down as he always did with her shots—she made a beeline for the guest of honor. The show she made of pulling Palooka George onto the dance floor got the crowd rolling with laughter and she didn’t let it die down.

Not once.

Not even when she noticed her father leading Ty and Norma Rose out of the dining room.

* * *

Forrest kept himself concealed among a group of men on the balcony smoking and sipping tall bottles of beer while he watched Twyla single-handedly entertain the crowd. She did so naturally, with her smile and outrageous yet charming behavior. Nightingale’s hadn’t needed Slim. They could have just set Twyla loose. She was the real draw and the reason people filled the dance floor. There wasn’t a man at the shindig who wasn’t captivated by her, including several he’d recognized from here and there. A man didn’t do the amount of traveling he’d done without hearing the latest news. These days that news included gangsters. From small-time mobsters to big-time bosses. A good number of them were here tonight.

Loose Lenny, Mumbles and Knuckles Page, Gorgeous Gordy and Fire Iron Frank were all sitting along the bar, eyeing one another as if they weren’t sure who was going to pull out a piece first. Sylvester the Sly and Point Blank Luigi were at a table playing poker in the dining room along with a few others.

Forrest couldn’t say he was too worried about any of the mobsters causing trouble tonight. Roger had his own entourage. Bronco Mitchell, Tuck Andrews, Duane Luck, Tad McCullough, Danny Trevino and Walter Storms. They’d all been with Roger for years and were stationed throughout the property, inside and out. Bronco was around Forrest’s age. The man’s uncle, Jacob Wertheimer, worked for Forrest, had worked for the Plantation for years. Although Bronco was devoted to Roger, he stopped at the Plantation now and again to see his uncle, which was how Forrest had learned about Twyla’s escapades. Just last month Bronco had swung by while looking for her and admitted she’d escaped their watchful eyes once again.

He grinned. She was still a brat. In a sense, Forrest felt sorry for Bronco, and he would never admit the man had told him anything, not even under fire. Dealing with the Nightingale women was more than Forrest could ever have handled, and he’d assured Bronco his secrets were safe with him. Every man needed to vent now and again. Besides, Forrest enjoyed hearing about her escapades. It proved she hadn’t changed.

As if he could read his mind, Bronco caught Forrest’s eye and gave a friendly nod as he continued to weave his way through the crowd, making sure everyone was behaving. The man paused behind two rather rowdy fellows being a bit brash when it came to encouraging Twyla to dance with them. With nothing more than a meaty hand laid upon each one’s shoulder, Bronco mellowed the two men. They took their seats, nodding at something the watchman said.

Forrest shook his head. Though well over six feet of muscle and brawn, Bronco had his work cut out for him. That was for sure. Forrest held up the bottle of beer he’d been nursing all night, in a silent salute to his friend, and then turned around to once again gaze over the lake reflecting starlight back into the heavens. He set the bottle on the rail beside him, but then picked it up and spun it around. No label. That didn’t surprise him. Beer was harder to find during Prohibition than whiskey, but he had a good idea where it came from.

His grandfather may have found Roger a job at the brewery, but Roger had worked his way through the ranks all on his own. By the time Prohibition hit, Roger had made some very tight connections, and from the looks of things, he was still using them.

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.