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No, and he would leave. Being an airmail pilot was still in his future. Where would that leave her? An old woman sitting alone. A poor lonely wife. She had money—plenty of it. But Forrest hadn’t wanted help from her family in solving the mystery behind his father’s parole, so he’d never accept money. Not even from her. Airmail pilots couldn’t make the kind of money she could bring in running the resort.
Giving the plane propeller one last flick, she said, “Love or money, Twyla, which will it be?”
There was no one to answer that, so she stood and walked around the desk to go find Bronco. He said he’d be at the bar, talking to his uncle. At the door, taking one last look around, Twyla’s gaze landed on the pictures on the wall, namely the one of Babe Ruth.
For a man with no money, Forrest had some influential friends.
Twyla clicked off the light and went to find Bronco. It wasn’t until hours later, while lying in her bed, staring at the shadows of the trees cast by the moon dancing around like dark fairies on her ceiling, that the picture entered her mind again.
Babe Ruth.
As the idea formed she grew giddy. Forrest wanted to become an airmail pilot to make money—money the Plantation wasn’t making right now. If the Plantation all of a sudden became successful, there would be no need for him to leave. He could fly his plane anytime he wanted. With her as a passenger.
Her idea grew until she laughed out loud, convinced it would work.
From then on, time barely ticked by. She looked at the clock so many times she had to check to make sure it was working properly. When dawn peeked in through her window, she leaped out of bed, threw on a comfortable yellow dress and matching shoes, combed her hair and headed for the office. She made notes of everything, and then lists of people to call—once it was of an appropriate time—and then, unable to keep it to herself any longer, she ran upstairs.
She reached Josie’s room first, throwing open the door. “Did you talk to Father?”
Rolling over and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Josie answered, “Yes.”
“Is everything all right?”
“For now.”
“Good. I need you downstairs in the office in ten minutes.” Closing the door, she ran to Norma Rose’s room and shoved that door open. “Good, you’re here.”
Standing before her closet, Norma Rose frowned. “Where else would I be?”
Ty’s cabin, that was where. Twyla didn’t say that, but then, determining it might give her a bit of playing power, she pointed out, “There’s wet grass on your feet.”
Norma Rose’s cheeks flushed and Twyla chuckled. “Wear red again. You look good in it, and meet me and Josie in the office in ten minutes.”
“Why?”
“Because I say so,” Twyla answered, shutting the door. She went back downstairs and into the kitchen, knowing full well it would take at least twenty minutes before either sister arrived. She ate a cinnamon roll straight from the oven, along with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and chatted with the cooks about a Fourth of July barbecue. Though people had been cooking outside for years, calling it a barbecue was a fairly new idea, and not something upscale resorts did. She was going to change that.
Twyla was sitting at the office desk when her sisters arrived. “Good morning,” she greeted. “Take a seat.”
Norma Rose and Josie glanced at each other. Twyla grinned and handed each of them a sheet of paper.
“What’s this?” Norma Rose queried.
“Your job duties.”
“My what?”
“Your job duties for the Fourth of July celebration,” Twyla explained.
“We already planned this,” Norma Rose said.
“We planned what we are doing here,” Twyla pointed out. “At the resort. This will explain what we are doing in town.”
“In town?” Josie asked.
“Yes, we are going to have an entire community celebration.” Waggling a finger at their papers, she said, “Read those. You’ll see we are going to need a parade, a sailboat race, games for kids at the city park, a scavenger hunt—I really like that idea—and airplane rides. That will all happen throughout the day, and that night, people will come to the resort for a barbecue, dance-off and fireworks.”
“We can’t do all this,” Norma Rose said.
“Yes, we can,” Twyla insisted. “There are three of us.” She turned to Josie. “Your Ladies Aid Society can help. They can take care of the parade, the games for the kids and the scavenger hunt.”
Josie opened her mouth, but Twyla said, “They owe you after your little incident.”
Josie merely looked down at her paper.
