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It shouldn’t have. Galen’s pending release was a real danger and had just become even more serious. Which meant Forrest had to talk to Twyla’s father. Jacob was right. He needed Roger’s help in discovering who was backing Galen. Time was not on his side, either.
Although his mother claimed it wasn’t, he was still convinced the opium was the reason behind Galen’s arrest. There was nothing else it could be. Even though it appeared as if Galen’s drug-dealing shenanigans had been swept under the rug, it was the only thing that tied everything together, the only thing that made sense. The rest of Galen’s activities, although they were all illegal, wouldn’t have merited having him extradited to California—other than laundering the money he made from the drug deals. Where else would the money have come from?
They’d driven along the grassy field road, onto the gravel one, and were almost to the highway when she asked, “What do you want to talk to my father about?”
Evidently, that hadn’t changed, either—the way she could practically read his mind. A part of him wanted to tell her everything, for if she knew something, she might help him come up with a solution. Flying with her had brought forth his other dilemma. The problem of keeping the Plantation open while operating an airmail route...if the government accepted his bid. He had no reason to believe they wouldn’t, but the money in his coffers said he couldn’t do both. Flying was in his blood and was what he wanted to do, but the Plantation was his heritage. He’d spent years trying to prevent people from learning about the ugliness he went home to every night. Protecting those he cared about from getting hurt was still his main concern.
Twyla would have an opinion on all that, as she did on everything, and in this case it could be worthwhile for him to listen to it, if it wasn’t for the fact her couldn’t tell her. The less she knew—the less anyone knew—the better. That hadn’t changed. If he couldn’t find a way to keep Galen behind bars, it never would change.
“The Plantation,” he finally said. It was a half truth, but she’d simply repeat herself if he didn’t respond soon.
“What about it?” she asked.
His plan could end up with more holes in it than a fighter plane that had been shot down if he didn’t get away from her soon. Twyla was making him wish he’d never come home. She was too intuitive and too impulsive. She was also too beautiful and meant far too much to him.
They turned onto the highway and, glancing toward Twyla with her yellow scarf flaying behind her as it had in the plane, Forrest shrugged. “I just need some advice, and Roger seemed like the perfect man to ask.”
“What sort of advice?”
She was relentless. “Business advice.”
“Well, if it’s about running shine, yes, then talk to my father, but if it’s about running a nightclub, Norma Rose is who you need to talk to.”
A chilling silence filled the car, even though the roadster had no top and the wind was still whipping his hair and her scarf about. Forrest considered once again telling her he wasn’t in love with Norma Rose, as Twyla seemed to think, but, in all reality, it made no difference. Twyla was Twyla, and she was going to think whatever she wanted no matter what he said. That hadn’t changed, and neither had his goal—to never bring any of the girls any closer to him than necessary. Never to expose them to the corruption embedded in his family.
As he turned the car off the highway and onto the road that led to the resort, Twyla let out a loud sigh. Forrest held his in.
After the car rumbled over the railroad tracks, she said, “I wish we were still up in the air, flying around like we had no worries in the world.”
“I do, too,” he admitted.
“Will you take me up again someday?” she asked.
“Sure,” he lied.
* * *
Twyla was fighting hard to find some of the excitement that had lived inside her just a short time ago, but it wasn’t to be found. A dark, heavy dread had settled where her excitement had resided. There were several things she could attribute it to, but she couldn’t pinpoint which one weighed more heavily. They all made her head hurt, and her heart. Forrest hadn’t left years ago on purpose. She knew that now as soundly as she knew her last name was Nightingale. He’d been hurt. Badly. She’d seen that in his eyes.
Once Norma Rose learned that fact, she was sure to forgive him. Although her sister might consider herself in love with Ty, the truth could change her mind.
No one was more handsome than Forrest, and who wouldn’t want to be married to a man who could take you on airplane rides? Forrest had money, too, left to him by his grandfather, and owning a plane said he still had all that money. Norma Rose would like that, too. Money meant as much to her as it did to Twyla.
