The Rebel Daughter

Glancing around, he added, “I’ll let Norma Rose decide that.”

Kicking him might be impossible, but she wouldn’t allow him to ruin things. Not again. “Stay away from her, Forrest,” Twyla warned. “Test me on this, and I guarantee you won’t like the outcome.”

He had the gall to laugh right in her face. Then again, he’d always had the gall to laugh at her. Usually she’d laughed with him. Not anymore. She let her glare tell him that.

“Everything’s still a challenge to you, isn’t it?” He flicked the end of her nose. “When are you going to learn you are no match for me, Twyla, and no match for your sister, either?”

That invisible creepy spider moved from her spine to her chest, where it wrapped all eight hairy legs around her heart and squeezed tightly. She was a match for Forrest and would prove it. No one would get in her way. Especially not some flyboy who thought himself a hero because he’d returned home in the nick of time to save his family business, the Plantation nightclub.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said, in between greeting guests and wearing the smile that moments ago had started to slip but now returned, rejuvenated. The Plantation would never rival the resort, no matter who ran it. “Because you’re about to eat your words.”

The glimmer in his eyes was full of challenge. To say Forrest Reynolds was handsome would be an understatement. He’d always been more on the gorgeous side. Besides his contrasting brown eyes and blond hair, he was tall and lean, the type of man who looked good in everything he wore. His navy blue suit was fitted—wide across the shoulders, slender at the hips. He looked ravishing in it, and although she’d never told anyone nor ever would, no one looked as dashing as Forrest when he was wearing his flyboy getup. With brown boots that came up to his knees, his bulky leather jacket and that hat with its floppy ear flaps and round goggles, no man came close to his handsomeness. Her heart fluttered just thinking about it.

Only because she appreciated a handsome man. She always had. Forrest, handsome or not, was no contest for her. Few knew, but Twyla had long ago learned how to charm men into doing just about anything. She’d learned how to be slick, too, in order to sneak away from the resort without being seen by her father’s men, the watchmen and guards who surrounded the property twenty-four hours a day. There was, after all, only so many nights a girl could stay locked in her room. She’d met her quota some time ago.

If she was a compassionate woman—which she was not—she might feel a bit sorry for Forrest and his beliefs.

As she only came up to his shoulder, he leaned down slightly, and the warmth of his breath tickled her ear. She’d just pierced the lobes a little over a week ago and was thankful they were no longer sore and throbbing. She sincerely hoped Forrest noticed those were real diamonds dangling on the silver loops. He was not dealing with a poor little girl anymore. She was far from that. In fact, they were on even ground these days. Her family now had as much wealth as his—if not more—and she would gladly use that against him, along with everything else she could come up with.

“Don’t forget where I live, Twyla,” he said as softly as the wind blew.

Caught off guard between the scent of his cologne and the warmth of his whisper, she stuttered slightly. “Wh-what?”

“Where I live. The Plantation.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I know you live at your nightclub. Everyone does. So what?”

“It’s next to the amusement park.”

After greeting another guest, she said, “Everyone knows that, too.”

“Where you held your kissing booth.”

Her stomach dropped to the floor. There were a few things she wasn’t proud of, namely the childish things she’d allowed Mitsy Kemper to talk her into while rebelling against Norma Rose and her father, but she truly didn’t believe anyone would have the gall to bring them up, especially to her face. If her father ever heard about some of her antics, things could change. Swiftly.

“Aw, there’s your father,” Forrest said. “I think I’ll go say hello.”

Twyla grabbed his arm. Her father knew nothing about the kissing booth and several other things, and if he learned of them, whether she was twenty-three or eighty-three, she’d be back to watching life from the sidelines. “Don’t you dare,” she growled.

Forrest lifted a brow.

Damn. He knew he had her cornered, just like always. If they were anywhere but the front foyer of the resort, where people continued to file through the door, she’d tell him just what she thought of him. And of the way he always seemed to be one step ahead of her. She wasn’t prepared for this. She needed time to think.

That spider was now in her stomach, stinging the dickens out of her.

She bit down on her bottom lip, hard, forcing her mind to come up with something. Anything.

Hadn’t she heard something about keeping enemies close? Well, Forrest was enemy number one. Therefore, the closer she kept him, the better. Norma Rose would be furious, but it was the only option. Forcing her lips into a smile, Twyla added, “After all, you are my date.”

“Your date?”

“Yes,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “My date.”

* * *

Forrest questioned his sanity. He’d spent years distancing himself from all of the Nightingales—out of necessity—yet here he was, back at square one. What had he been thinking?

That the past wasn’t over. That was what he’d been thinking. Requesting to be allowed to attend the parties Norma Rose had asked to hire Slim for had seemed logical at the time. It would give him the chance to talk to Roger Nightingale face-to-face, but now he wondered if he should have spent more time considering the consequences.

Maybe it was just Twyla’s obvious disdain toward him that caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected that from her, although he should have expected it from her and all the Nightingales, including the new lawyer it was rumored Norma Rose was glued to. He was prepared for the lawyer and Norma Rose, just not Twyla. A million years may not have prepared him for her.

It wasn’t her attitude that surprised him. She’d been the one to call him to ask about Slim Johnson filling in for Brock and had been more than a little put out when he wouldn’t talk to her. No, it was her that surprised him. The woman she’d become.

Forrest glanced down at the redheaded sister. Seeing her from afar hadn’t done her justice. If he’d known then—when he requested attendance—what he knew now, he might have approached this situation a bit differently.

Maybe.

The bottom line was, it had to be done.

Her hair was naturally blond, like all the Nightingale girls, but being the wild one, Twyla had dyed it cherry-red. It had faded since he’d last caught a glimpse of her at the amusement park. Her hair was now more auburn, and the color looked good on her. It brought out the blue of her eyes and made her stand out in a crowd in a best-looking-gal-in-the-room sort of way.

She definitely stood out in a shimmering silver dress that barely covered her knees and a tiny pill hat swathed with silver netting. Twyla had always been the most brazen of the sisters, and Forrest hoped Roger Nightingale knew what he was doing by turning her loose in his resort. Especially tonight. He recognized faces. Lots of them. There were more gangsters filing through the door than roamed the streets of Chicago. That also made him wonder if all the tales he’d heard about Roger Nightingale and his bootlegging business were true.

Things had certainly changed since he’d left town. His return hadn’t been overly welcomed, either, but he hadn’t expected it to be. The tapping of a toe, along with those glittery blue eyes shooting daggers at him, brought his mind back to the conversation at hand, which had been... Aw, yes, being Twyla’s date for the evening.

“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.