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“That bastard,” Twyla hissed.
Forrest knew she wasn’t talking about his uncle.
“I always knew your fath— Galen Reynolds was the devil.” She let go of his arm and stomped around in a small circle. “I hope he rots in prison. I tell you what, Forrest, if my father hadn’t seen him sent away, I would have once I’d discovered this.”
Forrest knew he didn’t want her to know about Galen’s pending release. It was hard to say what Twyla might do, but she was sure to get herself hurt doing it.
“It’s in the past now,” he said, “and my injuries have never bothered me. Never stopped me from doing what I wanted to do.” He gestured toward the hangar. “That’s when I decided to become a pilot, while at my aunt and uncle’s. I met Charles Lindbergh while I was staying with them. He’s a pilot and he’s going to be world famous some day, mark my words.”
“I’ll mark your words,” Twyla said, still acting madder than a hornet whose nest had just been knocked down. “But you mark mine. If I ever lay eyes on Galen Reynolds, there will be hell to pay. I’ll knock the spots right out of him.”
Forrest’s stomach sank. What had he started? Choosing to change the subject, he asked, “Does your father know you swear like that?”
She glared at him.
“Does he?”
“It’s the 1920s, Forrest, women can curse.” She spun around and started walking toward the hangar. “We can drink and smoke, too, not to mention vote.”
“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you need to,” he pointed out, knowing that would get her feathers more ruffled, but also hoping it would set her mind on a different track.
“Nonetheless,” she said, sticking her nose in the air, “I appreciate the new generation and embrace it fully.” Giving him a quick head-to-toe appraisal over her shoulder, she added, “Women can even have sex without worrying about getting pregnant.”
He shot forward and grabbed her arm before she took another step. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned pregnancy today,” he said, noting inwardly how it twisted his guts worse than flying through stormy weather. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why have you mentioned it twice?” He grew cold at the thought. “Are you pregnant?”
“Of course I’m not pregnant. How dare you suggest such a thing?”
Her cheeks had turned bright red. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure, and I don’t appreciate you thinking otherwise.” Frowning, she persisted, “Why would you say such a thing?”
Her huffiness had fizzled out, which he assumed meant she was just being Twyla. In some cases, she liked to sound much more adventurous than she was—at least he hoped that was still the case, especially in this instance. He let go of her arm and walked over to shut the big doors on the hangar. “You did run a kissing booth.”
“You can’t get pregnant by just kissing,” she said. Having followed him, she was now swinging the other door closed.
“But it can lead to it,” he said as they met in the middle.
“I only ran that booth for two weekends before I got—” She pinched her lips together.
“Caught?” he inquired. “Two weekends before Norma Rose learned about it?” Bronco had told him that last week. The man had been greatly relieved.
Twyla rolled her eyes and sighed. She moved away then and he secured the door.
“Wait, I forgot to put your extra jacket and hat away,” she said.
“We can put them in the trunk with mine,” he answered, hoping that was the end of both conversations.
She gathered together the things she’d worn, while he picked up his, and silently they walked to the car, where he opened the trunk. As he swapped his boots for his loafers, she folded the pants and coats and set them carefully in the trunk. After adding his boots, he closed the lid and gestured toward the passenger side of the car.
“Why didn’t you ever tell us—I mean, tell Norma Rose—that you hadn’t just left town?” she asked as he opened the car door.
“By the time I could have, it was already too late,” he said. Norma Rose had said as much when he’d tried apologizing during their phone call.
“It’s never too late for some things, Forrest,” Twyla said, climbing in the roadster.
“Yes, it is.” He was no longer thinking about Norma Rose—he was thinking about Twyla, and what she now knew. It was too late for him to take it back. Now he had to figure out what it wasn’t too late for, like how he could guarantee her safety and keep Galen away from her and her family. The consequences of telling her all he knew were sinking in. These were things he should have considered before now, but since the moment taking her flying had crossed his mind, all else had fallen to the wayside.
