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He entered the booth and picked up the phone dangling by its cord. There was no room to sit, so he leaned back against the wall for support. “Hello.”
“Hello.”
Warmth and relief raced through his system. Leaning his head back, he grinned at the heavens far above the ratty old building. “How did you get this number?”
“Well, let’s see.” Twyla’s voice came through the line with as much charm as ever. “On this piece of paper next to the model airplane on your desk, it says, ‘Mother’ and this number is printed right beside it. You have nice penmanship.”
His grin grew so wide it pulled on his cheeks. “My desk?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes, imagining her sitting there. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Josie being arrested?”
Forrest laughed. “That explains the phone call.”
“Why didn’t you?” she asked again.
“Because it wasn’t for me to tell. Scooter asked for a ride to Duluth and I gave him one.”
“But you knew he was going up there to get Josie out of jail?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “He told me that was the reason.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
He sighed. “No, I didn’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because that was—is—Josie’s business,” he said. “Now, on the other hand, if that had been you...”
“If that had been me, you wouldn’t have had to tell me because I’d already have known.”
He was too tired for any more twisted tales. “Twyla.”
“Yes.”
“You are the only Nightingale girl I care about.”
Her silence made him question if he should have admitted that or not.
“I am?” she finally asked quietly.
“You are,” he answered. “Now please tell me you didn’t drive to the Plantation this late at night by yourself.”
“Father wouldn’t let me. Bronco drove me.”
“That’s the first good news I’ve had all day.”
“It is?” she asked. “What’s happened with Galen?”
“There will be a new trial,” he said, “but this one against him is for the actual counterfeiting. The officials say he’ll never get out.” Once his mother told the officials where they’d find the banker’s body, that would be even more of a certainty. Forrest would see that happened.
“How’s your mother?” Twyla asked softly.
Forrest closed his mouth before the word fine could exit. “She’s doing all right,” he said. “I’m trying to convince her to come home with me.”
“That’s nice,” she said, after a lengthy pause. “You’ll like having her home. When might that be?”
There was an undertone to her voice, and a double meaning there somewhere, he just couldn’t grasp it right now. Probably due to lack of sleep, among other things. “I don’t know yet,” he said. Not wanting to wear her out, he added, “I’d better hang up now, and you’d better get on home.” Recalling the thank-you she’d slept through, he added, “And Twyla, thank you. If not for you finding that suitcase, Galen would be getting out.”
“You’re welcome, but if not for Josie getting arrested, we wouldn’t have found the suitcase.”
“I’m not going down that road again,” he said, although he was grinning. “Bronco’s there to drive you home, right?”
“Yes, he is. Goodbye, Forrest.”
“Bye.” He hung up and stared at the phone.
* * *
Miles away from California, sitting at Forrest’s desk, Twyla stared at the phone she’d just hung up. Reaching over, she spun the little propeller on his model plane, as she had done several times during their conversation. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back to survey the room as the propeller made a clicking sound. Hearing Forrest’s voice made her miss him all the more and that certainly didn’t settle anything inside her.
She was the only Nightingale sister he cared about. That was fine and dandy, but he was still keeping secrets from her. Sort of. It was Josie’s tale to tell, and she hadn’t told anyone, except perhaps their father. He’d arrived at the resort just as Twyla had been leaving.
Was she making more out of this secret than need be? Yes. Because the real problem lay within her. She might love Forrest, he might even love her, but that didn’t solve anything. Could she live with the fear of him leaving all the time?
