Shine your shoes, slip on your flapper dress and prepare for the ride of your life in Lauri Robinson’s rip-roaring new mini-series

DAUGHTERS OF THE ROARING TWENTIES

Their hair is short and their skirts are even shorter!

Prohibition has made Roger Nightingale a wealthy man. With his bootlegging business in full swing, and his swanky hotel the most popular joint in town, his greatest challenge is keeping his four wilful daughters in check!

Join

Ginger, Norma Rose, Twyla and Josie as they foxtrot their way into four gorgeous men’s hearts!

First travel with Ginger to Chicago in

The Runaway Daughter Already available as a Mills & Boon Historical Undone! eBook

Then see Norma Rose go head-to-head with Ty Bradshaw in

The Bootlegger’s Daughter Already available

Can Forrest Reynolds tame mischievous Twyla?

Find out in

The Rebel Daughter Already available

And, last but not least, discover Josie’s secret in

The Forgotten Daughter Available now

Author Note

Welcome to the Roaring Twenties! A time in America when almost every citizen broke the law and new freedoms were discovered.

Significant change during this time period was the catalyst to bring about a new breed of women. The right to vote, and opportunities to attend college and to pursue careers paved the way for younger women to embrace who they were. They flaunted the liberation of their generation and emphasised the separation of past rigid lifestyles with newfound hairstyles, fashion and actions.

Josie Nightingale is The Forgotten Daughter in this, the fourth book in my Daughters of the Roaring Twenties mini-series. Unlike her sisters, Josie doesn’t concern herself with fashion, make-up or fancy parties. She embraces the concealment living at the resort provides. It’s allowed her to pursue another interest—that of helping others. Under the ruse of attending ladies’ aid meetings she sneaks north once a week to pass out condoms to women working the docks in Duluth. All goes well until she’s arrested and has to call Scooter Wilson to get her out of the hoosegow.

My heart went out to Scooter from the get-go. He has his hands full with Josie, but he’s the right man for the task.

I think this was the hardest book for me to write in this series. I knew it was the end of my visits with the Nightingales—for now.

The Forgotten

Daughter

Lauri Robinson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A lover of fairytales and cowboy boots, LAURI ROBINSON can’t imagine a better profession than penning happily-ever-after stories about men (and women) who pull on a pair of boots before riding off into the sunset—or kick them off for other reasons. Lauri and her husband raised three sons in their rural Minnesota home, and are now getting their just rewards by spoiling their grandchildren.

Visit: laurirobinson.blogspot.com, facebook.com/lauri.robinson1, twitter.com/LauriR.

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To my brother Roger and his wife Teresa. Your involvement in these roaring twenties stories meant the world to me!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

White Bear Lake, Minnesota, 1925

If only this was something she enjoyed...

The outdoor dance floor covering the ground between the resort building and the water fountain overflowed with men and women set on having a good time. More people crowded the tables covered with alternating red, white and blue tablecloths that gave everything a patriotic feel, and the colorfully decorated Chinese lanterns hanging on the wires stretched from the tall corner posts added to the overall festive appearance.

Even the hill, as it gently sloped toward the lake on the other side of the fountain, was a flurry of activity, with people lined up outside the little red-and-white tents set up for them to change in and out of their swimming attire.

Her sisters had been right. As usual. People had come from miles around. Dressed in everything from fringed dresses and suit coats to beachwear. Age made no difference today. Betty Sandstrom, who’d turned ninety-one last month, sat in a chair with her cane hooked on one arm and on the other side of the table, Hannah Willis bounced her six-week-old baby boy, Henry. He was a cutie, with his tuft of blond hair and big blue eyes.

From her stance on the resort’s balcony, Josie Nightingale held her customary role, that of being a bystander, wishing she could embrace all of this. She’d much rather be watching from her bedroom window, but that wasn’t an option. She was expected to be in attendance today. Front and center, along with the rest of her family.

Resort employees served beverages by the trayload. Soda pop with striped straws and cocktails created to disguise the liquor filling the bottom half of the glasses. There was food, too. Lots of it. The scent of fire-roasted meat and corn boiled on the cob still hung in the air. Soon there would be dessert. Cake and ice cream.

The sigh that built in her lungs became too large to hold in. Too powerful. Josie let it out, feeling no relief when she did so. Everything was running smoothly. Extremely smoothly, but there was little pride inside her. Even less excitement.

There should be. A lot of work had gone into the party. The planning had started weeks ago. That wasn’t unusual. Nightingale’s Resort was known for its parties. What was different about this one was that it wasn’t just a Fourth of July celebration—it was her sister’s wedding.

Twyla and Forrest Reynolds had been married less than an hour ago. They were dancing right now, looking at each other with stars in their eyes. They’d been meant to be together. Josie had always known that. Had seen it with her own eyes years ago when they’d all been kids. She had a knack for that, seeing what others didn’t always see, especially in themselves. Still, Josie’s shoulders wanted to slump clear to her knees.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for her sister. She was, and not just for Twyla, but also for their oldest sister, Norma Rose, who would marry Ty Bradshaw in a couple of weeks, and Ginger, who’d married Brock Ness down in Chicago last month. Everyone had been surprised this morning when Ginger and Brock had shown up, having driven from Chicago for Twyla’s wedding. Ginger and Brock, along with Norma Rose and Ty, were on the dance floor next to Twyla and Forrest, all of them looking happier than ever.

Josie tried to not feel it, but it was there. That deep, somewhat bitter sense of being the odd one out. The story of her life. For years, she’d told herself that was her choice. It still was. She truly didn’t give a hoot about all the fuss and finery surrounding the resort, surrounding her family.

She did love them. Her family. And she was thankful for them. That’s why she did all of this—planned parties she’d rather not attend, made beds and swept floors, even waited on tables and wrote out admittance tickets. The resort was the family business.

Today it was all just a bit unsettling.

Something must have changed inside her. In the past, she’d been better at putting on a smile—for show—when needed. Maybe it was just that currently, her life was in such disarray that keeping up the pretense that the world was as wonderful as her sisters claimed it was grew more impossible by the minute. She wanted to believe the world was a wonderful, happy place. She always had. But she knew otherwise. That notion weighed more heavily on her mind today than usual.

Another sigh built and burned inside her chest as an arm fell around her shoulders.

“Well, Josie-girl, it looks like it’ll be just you and me.”

The souring sensation in her stomach she’d had for days increased. Bucking up, for there was little else she could do, Josie planted a grin as big as her father’s billfold on her face and leaned against his shoulder as he hugged her close to his side with one heavy arm. However, she made no comment in response to his statement.

Roger Nightingale was feared as strongly as he was revered by everyone, including his daughters.

He kissed the top of her head. “Dare I say I’m happy there’s no man waiting in the wings to steal you away from me?”

The lump in her throat grew big enough to strangle a cow. Refusing to give in to the sadness or to peek toward the edge of the dance floor, Josie shook her head. “No chance of that, Daddy.”

“Don’t fret,” he said with another kiss. “The right man’s out there for you, too. Give him time.”

“I’m not fretting.” Lifting her gaze, because depending upon his answer, she knew things could get a whole lot worse, Josie asked, “Are you?”

“Nope.” His grin was broad and his blue eyes shimmered. “Losing three daughters in a matter of weeks is more than enough. I’m going to hang on to you until the very end.”

The strangling sensation happened again, and this time Josie couldn’t speak around it. Scrounging up a painful smile that was as wobbly as her insides, she once again rested her head near the front of his shoulder. Her gaze wasn’t controllable, either. Of their own accord, her eyes landed on Scooter Wilson. The sinking feeling within her could have sent her all the way to the other side of the earth.

Scooter was looking up to see if she was looking down at him, and when their gazes met, he lifted a brow. Though the Chinese lanterns were hung and the music had started, night had yet to fall, and she could clearly see, and feel, the challenge Scooter sent her way.

Josie swallowed. Why had she called him, of all people, when she’d been arrested? Because he’d been the one person she could count on to get her out without too many questions. Way back when she’d worn pigtails and hand-me-down dresses, Scooter had been the one to come to her rescue when any of the other boys, or girls for that matter, had picked on her for one reason or another. He’d never told anyone about those incidents. True to form, just like he’d kept all her other secrets, he was keeping this one. Despite the ultimatum he’d laid down. Either she stopped her activities, or he’d tell her father.

Neither of which could happen.

“Did Scooter fix your car?” her father asked, his gaze following hers.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said gruffly. “I still think I should have Ned look into that entire escapade. One of my daughters being arrested for speeding is ludicrous. They should have told you to slow down and nothing more.”

Getting Sheriff Ned Withers involved would completely blow her last bit of cover. Her father thought she’d given Colene Arneson a ride up to Duluth to see a niece and that the speeding incident had happened on the way back home. “It was like Scooter said, Daddy,” Josie replied, her nerves hitting a high gear. She’d never blatantly lied to her father, and it didn’t settle well with her. It hadn’t settled well with Scooter, either. “The gas pedal stuck. He promises it won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” Her father spun her around by the shoulders to directly face him. “Matter of fact, it won’t.” He grinned broadly. “I told Scooter you need a new car. Come Monday, he’ll go with you over to Big Al’s to pick one out.”

Her stomach sank. Avoiding Scooter hadn’t been easy over the past weeks, not when she’d had to arrange for him to set off the fireworks later tonight, but she had no intention of going anywhere with him, not even to pick out a new car. When searching for an excuse didn’t result in one, Josie asked, “Couldn’t it just be delivered?” The way her father frowned made her add, “I mean, with Twyla married, she won’t be here to help and Norma Rose is busy planning her wedding, and—”

He kissed her forehead. “No, it can’t be delivered. I know you. You’ll want Scooter to check it from bumper to bumper. Being the only one of my girls here, you’ll need a car—one you can depend on—while Norma Rose and Ty are on their honeymoon. They’ll be moving into the farmhouse when they return, and don’t worry, she’ll be taking over the helm again before the end of the summer.”

It wasn’t the work at the resort Josie was worried about. She didn’t mind covering the front desk and helping with all the parties. Just like she’d never minded cleaning rooms and doing laundry. The resort was her responsibility as much as it was anyone else’s. She just didn’t know how she’d manage everything with Twyla gone. Unlike her, Twyla thrived on being the life of the party. She’d been thrilled to step up and help Norma Rose and had completely plunged herself into making sure the events at the resort were top-notch. Twyla had planned tonight’s party, in fact she’d planned the whole day of activities that included the entire town of White Bear Lake, and it had been a success.

When her sister moved into town, to live at the Plantation with Forrest, it would create a hindrance to Josie’s other duties, namely her Tuesday runs. Twyla had assured her she’d come and help while Norma Rose was on her honeymoon, and afterward, whenever they needed her assistance.

Norma Rose was planning ahead, too. The resort had been her first love—although many people had thought Forrest Reynolds had been Norma Rose’s first love. Josie had known Norma Rose had never been in love with Forrest, just as she knew Norma Rose would never relinquish the resort to someone else. Not even one of her sisters. Norma Rose had made Nightingale’s what it was today.

While her father had been busy amassing a fortune from bootlegged whiskey, Norma Rose had been busy making the rest of the world believe the family’s resort was where they’d struck it rich. Hospitality was what she called it.

Josie had been very thankful for Norma Rose’s, and her father’s, drive and ambition. While her father had been focused on getting Minnesota 13 shipped worldwide and Norma Rose had been busy catering to the rich men their father did business with, Josie had had the freedom to pursue other adventures.

Twyla and Ginger had complained they were little more than prisoners, sent up to their bedrooms as soon as the sun went down. Freedom, Josie suspected, was like most everything else. Each person perceived it differently. Crawling into her bed while the parties below were still going strong had never bothered her. She’d been exhausted most nights, and more than ready for a good night’s sleep.

Her sisters would never understand that, and she’d never admitted it, not to anyone. Just like she wouldn’t admit she couldn’t fill in for her sisters and keep helping the Ladies Aid Society.

It wouldn’t be forever.

Just for the next couple of months.

She’d manage.

That was if Scooter didn’t follow through on his threat and put a stop to it all.

That’s what truly couldn’t happen.

There were simply too many lives at stake.

“I’m not worried,” she told her father. Another lie, but he’d been waiting for her response. “Norma Rose hasn’t booked another large party until Labor Day.” Taking a deep breath, Josie added, “Everything will be fine. Just fine.”

“You’ve always been the most sensible and levelheaded one of the bunch,” her father said. “I’ve always appreciated that. Even if I haven’t told you.” He kissed her forehead again. “You’ve never given me the worries your sisters have.”

Once again her smile wobbled.

“Must be that Ladies Aid Society you’re so involved in,” he said.

Josie closed her eyes, fighting harder to keep the smile on her face.

Letting go of her shoulders, her father straightened the maroon suit coat over his black shirt and vest. “I’m going to mingle,” he said. “It’s not every day a man gets to rub elbows with Babe Ruth. You should have some fun, too—visit the dance floor. Looks like your sisters are having the time of their lives.”

Her sisters all had reasons to be having the time of their lives. They’d not only found love, but in a sense they’d also found their freedom. Being one of Roger Nightingale’s daughters wasn’t an easy road. Up until a few years ago, they’d been just one more poor family among many others in the area. That had changed. Wealth changed a lot of things. Once again she told herself to be grateful for that. Luck had been on their side. If not for their father, and his determination, their lives would be very different.

“There’s Babe,” her father said, pointing toward a man as large as he was, and just as boisterous. “You coming?”

Inviting Babe Ruth had been Twyla’s idea, and the stunt had worked. People from all across the state had driven to the resort in hopes of meeting the baseball legend. “In a bit,” she said. “I have a few other things to see to up here.” Gesturing toward the empty ballroom—most of the tables had been moved outside, leaving a mere smattering of them in the adjoining dining room—she added, “Now that the barbecue is over, I want to check on dessert and make sure the chefs are making hors d’oeuvres for later on. The fireworks won’t go off for hours. We wouldn’t want anyone getting hungry. Especially Babe Ruth.”

Prohibition restricted the sale of alcohol, but the resort didn’t sell drinks. It sold tickets that included all the food people could eat. The tickets weren’t cheap, but people paid the price because along with the food came free drinks. Her father chuckled and patted her shoulder. “That’s my girl. Your momma would be as proud of you as I am. Of all of you.”

Josie nodded and watched him walk to the stairs leading to the ground. Reggie, the resort’s long-standing bartender, had set up a portable bar beneath the balcony. Now that she was alone, the noise—that of the people beneath her, the music, the gaiety in general—vibrated against her eardrums. This was by far the largest party the resort had hosted and the entire day had gone without even the tiniest mishap.

She was thankful for that, but would be even more grateful when the day was over.

Josie spun around and walked through the open double doors leading into the resort’s ballroom. Once nothing more than an old dance pavilion her grandfather had built to entertain weekend visitors to the lakes, the room now rivaled ballrooms in California and New York. Leastwise, that was what Norma Rose claimed. Her sister would know. She’d spent hours studying pictures of those places while designing the renovations on this room.

Stopping near one of the few tables left behind, Josie wrapped one hand around the back of a chair to steady herself while adjusting her shoe with the other hand. Blisters were forming on her heels from the hideous shoes she’d been requested to wear.

Her matching dress, identical to the one Twyla had bought to wear today, was just as bad as the shoes. The entire ensemble was an ugly pea-soup green—green was Twyla’s favorite color. Josie much preferred her soft-soled slip-on shoes, dungarees and loose-fitting blouses. They were not only more comfortable, but they also didn’t stand out. In them, a person could easily hide in a crowd.

After adjusting the second shoe, she wiggled her hips to shake the handkerchief hemline of the silk dress back into place. Cut above the knee in the front, but almost touching the floor in the back, the dress was as repugnant as the color. And the matching beaded headdress covering her hair had long ago started to itch. Fashion was not her thing. Thank heavens Twyla had been too busy to put much effort into insisting she pierce Josie’s ears before the wedding.

That was all she’d have needed. Swollen earlobes.

Then again, they probably would have taken her mind off her aching feet. In all honesty, she should be glad it was only her feet aching. Modesty had never been Twyla’s biggest trait. A lavish wedding would have been more her sister’s style. It was rather amazing that other than the green dresses, the actual wedding had been a simple affair. Granted, it had happened in the middle of the largest Fourth of July party the state had ever known. That made up for the simplicity of the wedding in Twyla’s eyes, no doubt.

Norma Rose’s wedding wouldn’t be simple. She’d been planning it for weeks. That, too, was a bit surprising—how easily Norma Rose had accepted Twyla getting married before her. If Josie had been more herself, she’d have questioned all of those things. Both of her sisters insisted she’d understand some day—how the most important thing truly is who you’re marrying, not where or when it’s taking place, or even what you’re wearing.

Hearing either Twyla or Norma Rose say that was as out of the ordinary as roses blooming in winter. Never one to voice her opinion when it wasn’t necessary, Josie had held her tongue. It wasn’t as if she had plans of marrying anytime soon. If ever.

“I mean it this time, Josie.”

The voice startled her so deeply that if not for the chair still nearby, she’d have toppled over. With both hands gripping the back of the chair, she took a stabilizing breath before lifting her gaze.

One foot braced on the lower brass rail, arms crossed and leaning against the bar a few feet away, Scooter Wilson stared her down like a John would a whiskey runner. Scooter was about as formidable as a copper, too. Over six feet tall and as beefy as any of her father’s men, Scooter’s size alone made people think twice before questioning him. That was just one of the things she’d admired about him. Or used to admire when they’d been kids. His attitude of late had her questioning if they’d ever been friends.

The other thing she used to admire had been his looks. His slicked-back black hair, parted on the side and combed behind his ears, made women of all ages stop at his gas station just to get a close look. Some didn’t even need gas in their tanks or air in their tires.

“I mean it,” he repeated.

Looks were as deceiving as friendships. They both faded over time.

“I heard you the first time, Scooter,” she replied. “And earlier today, and yesterday, and last week, and—”

“And I’m tired of saying it.”

Josie refrained from saying she, too, was tired of hearing it. This was Scooter. He didn’t care what she wanted. There wasn’t much he cared about. Other than his gas station and flirting with the girls who visited it.

If those girls could see him right now, in his black suit, with a white shirt and shiny black boots, they’d be pulling in to his station two at a time. Then again, they probably had already seen him. Everyone for miles around was here today.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” she asked.

He didn’t so much as blink an eye. “Don’t change the subject, Josie.”

“That would be a little difficult,” she snapped. “Considering the way you’ve hounded me.”

Scooter didn’t just step forward, he lunged, and took her arm in a tight hold. “Enough is enough, Josie.” The sound of giggles on the balcony made him lower his voice. “You need to be glad you only got arrested for speeding in Duluth.”

Enough was enough all right, and she’d had more of Scooter than she could handle. “I got arrested for speeding on purpose.”

The instant the words left her mouth, Josie repented.

Scooter’s sapphire-blue eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. “You got arrested on purpose?”

She wasn’t intimidated easily, but Scooter had a way about him that unsettled all sorts of things inside her. Lying to him would be useless. “Yes,” she hissed.

He cursed under his breath and released her arm when a man and woman, whispering and giggling, entered the ballroom. Josie kept her gaze averted as the couple made their way to the sweeping staircase leading to the second and third floors above.

She knew exactly when they were far enough away not to hear. Not only had their giggles faded, Scooter had grabbed her arm again.

“What about her?” he asked. “Are you going to save her, too?”

Josie pinched her lips together. Answering wasn’t worth her breath.

“You know what they’re going up there to do,” he said.

Normally not embarrassed by talk of sex, it had become a common subject in her life—her underground life—Josie chided herself for the sting in her cheeks. “Of course I know.”

“And you’re fine with that?”

Once again Josie told herself not to answer. Not to respond to his nit-picking.

“You’re a hypocrite, Josie Nightingale,” he said. “Right under your own roof, you live with and condone the very thing you get on your soapbox to preach against.”

The air in her lungs turned fiery as her spine stiffened. Josie wrenched her arm from his hold. “I do no such thing.”

“Like hell you don’t,” Scooter retorted, planting his face so close to hers the tips of their noses almost touched. “Nightingale’s is known for the women on the third floor.”

“It is not,” she argued. “Most people don’t even know about it.” Justifying the activities at the resort was not something she’d ever had to do before, but she’d justify the very air she breathed to get Scooter off her back. “Those women choose to rent rooms during large events, just like everybody else. Nightingale’s has nothing to do with it, nor does it take a share of their profits. And,” she added, emphasizing the point Gloria Kasper took pride in, “Dr. Kasper checks every girl who enters, making sure they’re healthy and not here against their will.”

“Securing your investments.”

Scooter’s words were lined with loathing. The twisting in Josie’s stomach intensified, gnawing on her backbone. “Fine,” she snapped. “Believe what you want. It makes no difference to me.”

“Well, it makes a difference to me,” he growled. “I’m sick and tired of waiting to hear if you’ve come up missing or not. I told my mother—”

“You what?” Josie bit her lips together and glanced around to make sure the ballroom was still empty.

“I told my mother to tell Gloria you’re done.”

Relief that no one had heard her shout disappeared. Josie grabbed the lapels of Scooter’s suit jacket. “It’s not for you or anyone else to say when I’m done. And,” she added with all the fury spiraling toward the top of her head like a champagne cork let loose, “you need to remember where Maize might be if not for Gloria.”

Her stomach sank before the words had completely left her mouth.

* * *

Eric Wilson, otherwise known as Scooter because of the motorcycles he’d coveted since seeing his first one around the same time he’d learned to walk, hadn’t been this angry since he didn’t know when. Josie Nightingale knew how to get him fired up, and she’d had him running on all cylinders for the past two weeks. Before then, too, but not to this degree. Passing out condoms to prostitutes was one thing, but her recent activity—attempting to steal girls away from their pimps—was far more dangerous than her pretty little brain could fathom.

“I know exactly where Maize would be,” he replied. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to prevent.” Grabbing her shoulders, he gave them a quick shake. “To stop you from ending up where my sister did.”

“I’m not going to end up anywhere,” she retorted.

Scooter wanted to shake her harder, maybe rattle some sense into her, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Josie thought herself untouchable. Not just because she was one of The Night’s daughters, but because her ruse had worked too well for too long. He knew exactly when it had all started—three years ago, when his sister Maize had been found missing after taking a job at the Plantation nightclub. Galen Reynolds had owned it back then—and he was a crook like no other. The man had been selling women, and like most everything else of the criminal nature Galen embarked in, he’d gotten away with it.

Scooter knew all about Gloria Kasper, too. She was now the resident physician at Nightingale’s but back then, when Maize had gone missing, Gloria still lived in town, in the house she and her husband had lived in for years. Long ago, when Gloria had been a young bride, she’d discovered her husband was doing more than tending to certain patients while on house visits and had put a stop to it. However, she’d been a bit too late. Her husband had already been infected. Gloria took it upon herself to find a cure, or at least a way to stop the disease he’d caught from spreading. She’d jumped on the condom bandwagon faster than the army. A few years later, after her husband died, she had become a doctor.

She’d also become a vigilante. Gloria understood prostitution was the oldest profession known to man, and knew no amount of protesting or rallying would put a stop to it, so she set out to make it as safe as possible for those involved. Men and women.

Astute, but also very secretive, Gloria had known about Galen Reynolds’s trafficking. She’d also been the first person Scooter’s mother had contacted when Maize hadn’t come home one night. Which was also why—though it had never been proven—her home had been burned to the ground after Maize had been rescued. Another reason Scooter was dead set on stopping Josie. Galen Reynolds may be in prison for counterfeiting, but Josie was getting herself involved with other people, men and women, some far worse than Galen.

He wanted to tell Roger everything he knew and put an end to Josie’s shenanigans, but that could backfire. Just like his plan had backfired years ago when his sister had gone missing. He’d gone to the Plantation that night, to find out what Galen had done to Maize. If Brock Ness hadn’t been delivering milk the next morning, Scooter had no doubt he’d have died in the ditch he’d been pitched into.

Brock had hauled him home and, to Scooter’s shock, when he’d awakened, his sister was home. No amount of questioning had gotten him a straight answer from either his mother or sister, but he cobbled enough bits and pieces together to know Gloria had been behind Maize’s rescue. Since Josie’s arrest, he’d discovered she was Gloria’s right-hand gal, and that her father knew nothing about it.

The Night had a reputation that far preceded him, and would be furious to learn what his daughter was up to, but that wasn’t what scared Scooter. It was what Roger would do that frightened him. Roger would go after the top dog, barrel in to put a stop to it, much like Scooter had done when he’d gone to see Galen Reynolds. That had taught him a valuable lesson. Top dogs were always protected. Roger Nightingale was no fool. Scooter understood that, and the man had a fair amount of protection circling him and his family, but Roger’s night watchmen wouldn’t be enough in this case. People—namely Josie—would get hurt.

Scooter had thought long and hard about this. He had no choice; it kept him up at night. The girls on the third floor of the resort proved Roger didn’t believe prostitution rings were dangerous. Scooter, however, knew the opposite. He hadn’t been able to rescue Maize, hadn’t been able to protect her from what had happened, but he wasn’t about to let history repeat itself.

Some of Josie’s anger had receded, as had his. Scooter let go of her shoulders. In truth, his fury should have increased. She had no idea of the danger she was playing with, how close she may be to having her life snuffed out.

“Dang it, Josie,” he growled. “This has to stop.”

“I don’t have a choice, Scooter,” she said, rather despondently.

“Yes, you do,” he insisted.

The shimmering green beads covering her blond hair flapped near her shoulders as she shook her head. “No, I don’t. I’m the only one who can get in and out unseen.”

Frustration filled his stomach. “You aren’t getting in and out unseen, Josie. Pants don’t make you invisible.” He stopped shy of stating she looked even more fetching in her britches and shirts than she did in the green dress she wore right now—although the color wasn’t very flattering. Normally he didn’t notice such things, but Josie usually, when she did wear a dress, chose one of simple colors. White, blue, yellow. The one she had right now was a pond-scum green. Twyla had probably picked it out for her wedding, as she and Norma Rose had on identical dresses.

“I have to go,” Josie said. “There are things I need to see to in the kitchen.”

He didn’t doubt that. The party had just gotten started and would continue for hours. Both Twyla and Norma Rose were otherwise occupied, which would leave most of the work to Josie. When she’d started taking on a bigger role at the resort a month or so ago he’d hoped that would curtail her other activities. It hadn’t. Her phone call from the Duluth jail had dropped his heart clear to his knees two weeks ago.

Scooter took hold of her elbow as she started to walk away. “Why’d you say you got arrested for speeding on purpose?”

The shock in the depths of her sky-blue eyes said she’d hoped he’d forgotten that tidbit of information.

She sighed heavily, but just as she was about to say something, they were interrupted.

Chapter Two

“Isn’t this party swell?” Twyla asked excitedly as she and Forrest crossed the room.

“Just swell,” Josie muttered under her breath. Remembering—as if she’d been able to forget—Scooter stood beside her, she pulled up a brilliant smile. “Yes, it is,” she told her sister. “One people will long remember. Who could ever forget Babe Ruth?”

“He’s so funny,” Twyla said, using Forrest’s shoulder the same way Josie had used the chair to hold her balance as she fiddled with one and then the other shoe. “He told me every woman should love baseball for the pure fact it’s played on diamonds.”

Josie merely grinned. Babe had been saying that to women all day. She almost found an ounce of comfort knowing the shoes were hurting her sister’s feet as badly as they were hers, but didn’t. It was Twyla’s wedding day, and nothing, not even tight shoes, should dampen her enjoyment.

“I was on my way to the kitchen,” Josie told Twyla, glad for the opportunity to escape Scooter. “Want to come with me? We can get something for our heels.”

Twyla laughed as she graced her new husband with a somewhat sheepish grin. “That’s exactly what I came inside for.”

“I told her she should have bought a larger size,” Forrest said teasingly.

“It’s not the size,” Twyla insisted. “It’s the style. These were the only ones that were the same color as our dresses.”

“Lucky shoes,” Scooter drawled.

Josie twisted her neck to hide the laugh that caught in the back of her throat, but Scooter caught it. His grin, as well as the glint in his eyes, said he thought the dresses were as ugly as she did. That made her want to smile, but she wasn’t about to let him think they shared the same thoughts on anything—not one tiny iota. Josie reached over and grabbed Twyla’s free hand. “Come on. Moe has bandages in the kitchen.”

Dramatic as Twyla always was, her sister held on to Forrest’s hand as she started walking, stretching her arm out as if Josie was pulling her away from her new husband. When she finally let go of Forrest’s hand, Twyla said, “Don’t let him out of your sight, Scooter. I don’t want to have to go looking for him.”

Josie’s ability to keep her thoughts to herself momentarily disappeared. “Good heavens,” she whispered. “You’ll only be gone a minute.”

“I know,” Twyla whimpered. “But a minute away from Forrest feels like hours.”

Josie bit her lips together to keep her from pointing out that little over a month ago Twyla had been selling kisses for a dime apiece to any man who walked past the cotton candy stand at the amusement park.

She’d barely taken another step when a solid grip wrapped around her elbow.

“Actually,” Scooter said, “Josie wasn’t on her way to the kitchen. She and I were discussing something and weren’t finished.”

Dumbfounded, it took Josie a moment for her mind to kick in. “Yes, we were finished,” she said. The undercurrent of tension surrounding them could sink a ship.

Twyla and Forrest obviously sensed it, too. “Did something happen to the fireworks?” Twyla asked.

“No,” Josie and Scooter answered simultaneously.

They hadn’t broached the subject of fireworks. There had been no need. Scooter was as reliable as Father Time. He said he’d handle the fireworks, and he would, without fail or complications.

Twyla always had to dig deeper. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Scooter said.

“The fireworks will go off as planned,” Josie assured her. At least once a day, usually more often, for the past week Twyla had talked about how Forrest was taking her up in his plane to watch the fireworks, cooing about how romantic it would be. Josie had to admit it did sound romantic, but right now, it made her want to be sick. Probably because of the way Scooter’s hold tightened on her arm. It plainly reminded her romance would never be a part of her life. Ignoring Scooter, she said to Twyla, “It’s almost time to cut your wedding cake. I was on my way to see if the ice cream was ready.”

“Twyla and I can do that,” Forrest said, glancing between her and Scooter. “Sorry to have interrupted you.”

Josie clenched her back teeth together so hard her jaw stung. She took several deep breaths through her nose as Twyla was led off by her new husband. Once they were out of sight, she wrenched her arm free from Scooter’s hold. “That was terribly rude,” she spat out.

“So?”

“So?” she repeated, even more furious at his callous attitude. This was not the Scooter of yesteryear. The one she could have laughed with over the color of her shoes.

He shrugged, as if being rude made no difference to him in the least. “Our conversation wasn’t finished. Why’d you get yourself arrested?”

Huffing out a breath, she used the time to gather her wits. Flying off the handle would only make matters worse. If that was possible. She’d already told him more than she should have. He had the uncanny ability to get things out of her like no one else. “That is none of your business,” she said, sounding much calmer than she was. Catching a glimpse of Norma Rose on the balcony, Josie took a step in that direction. “And our conversation is finished.”

“I’ve made it my business, Josie,” he said.

The conviction in his tone made her spine shiver, but she didn’t turn around.

“There you are,” Norma Rose said, pausing in the open doorway. “We need to move a table into the center of the dance floor for the cake.” Waving a hand, she continued, “Scooter, we could use your help.”

Josie held back her opinion on that as she crossed the threshold and followed Norma Rose across the balcony. When a hand settled on the small of her back, sending fire and ice up and down her spine, she willed herself not to flinch. Half the country was watching them.

“Smile,” Scooter whispered.

“Shut up,” she replied, seething.

He laughed.

She planted a smile on her face for the onlookers while elbowing him in the ribs.

At the bottom of the steps she gladly separated herself from him, and took a spot on the sideline to keep people back while Norma Rose cleared the dance floor and gave directions as to which tables needed to be carried over. When Moe, the assistant cook, appeared, he was followed by several serving girls carrying trays of little glass bowls holding scoops of ice cream drizzled with chocolate syrup and topped with a mint leaf. Josie stepped forward to ensure he had a clear pathway to the tables. The last in line was Silas, the head cook, carrying a cake so tall he could barely see over it.

“I still can’t believe Twyla agreed to ice cream,” Moe whispered as they walked. “But Silas says it’s not the Fourth of July without ice cream.”

“Twyla’s so in love she’d eat mud pies today,” Josie replied. Silas was a bit temperamental, but Moe was always smiling and was the real one in charge of the kitchen.

Moe winked at her. “That’s how a girl should feel on her wedding day.”

Of their own accord Josie’s eyes settled on one of the two men carrying the last table to the center of the floor. She wanted to pull her eyes away from Scooter as badly as she wanted to pinch the bridge of her nose, where a headache was starting to form. “I suspect you’re right.”

“We’ll start serving the hors d’oeuvres around nine,” Moe said. “Before the fireworks start. By then people will be hungry again.”

“Sounds perfect,” Josie answered. “Thank you.”

He set down his tray and directed the girls to start unloading the bowls of ice cream onto the table. “Hurry now, the cake is coming and we don’t want things to melt.” Turning to her, he said, “You go enjoy the day, everything in the kitchen is under control.”

She hadn’t taken a step when a hand took a hold of her elbow. Stepping out of the way of the serving girls, she hissed, “You’re worse than a bad penny today.”

“Thank you,” Scooter said, leading her toward the edge of the platform.

“That wasn’t a compliment,” she said.

“I know.”

Josie bit her tongue as others gathered near. Being the center of attention had never been her way. That much hadn’t changed.

“There sure are a lot of people here,” he said.

“Yes, there are,” Josie answered, noting how others were nodding, having heard his comment. “It’s because of Babe Ruth,” she said, hoping no one noticed how Scooter held her arm. Her subtle attempts to shake off his hold hadn’t worked and anything more strenuous would be noticed. Even with the distraction as Babe Ruth approached.

The ballplayer stopped next to her father, who was in the center of the dance floor along with Forrest and Twyla. A hush came over the crowd when her father held up a hand. He made a brief speech about how he’d known Forrest his entire life and was proud to call him family, and then Babe Ruth said a few words about having flown with Forrest on the east coast and that he was honored to have attended his wedding. He also remarked on how beautiful Twyla was and that if he wasn’t already married, he’d have stolen her away from Forrest.

The crowd roared, especially when Twyla proclaimed that although Babe Ruth was famous, and handsome, she’d still have chosen Forrest, mainly for his airplane.

Josie scanned the area behind her, looking for an escape route, but didn’t have any luck. As she turned back around, Scooter’s chuckle irked her. Pretending it didn’t she asked, “You didn’t have any problems with the fireworks, did you?”

“No,” he answered. “They’re all set to go. Dac and I built a raft and anchored it out in the middle of the lake. That’s where we’ll light the fireworks.”

Scooter was a member of the volunteer fire department and took all fires or potential fires seriously. She figured it was because his father had been with the fire department until he’d lost his life battling a blaze at one of the resorts closer to town several years ago. Nodding, she said, “Twyla’s excited about them.”

“Forrest, too,” Scooter replied. “He’s going to fly over them.”

“I know,” Josie answered.

“Have you ever gone up in his airplane?” Scooter asked.

“No.”

“Afraid?”

“No.”

He chuckled again and the shine in his eyes, the one that said he’d been teasing her, made her drop some of her guard. They had been friends for years, and he was likable, when he wanted to be.

“It’s fun,” he said. “You should try it.”

“I’m sure I will, someday,” she answered. Forrest had been giving airplane rides all afternoon. Even her father had taken one and upon landing had proclaimed he was going to buy his own plane. He most likely would.

“Want to know a secret?”

She frowned and her mouth went dry as she once again brought her gaze up to meet his. “What secret? Whose secret?”

“Twyla’s,” he answered. “She asked Dac and me to set up a tent out on the island.”

“What for?”

“For her and Forrest to spend the night.”

“Tonight?”

He nodded. “She said the island is her and Forrest’s favorite place.”

Josie didn’t doubt that. All of her sisters, not just Twyla, had favorite colors, favorite places and favorite things. She didn’t. Not really. That had never bothered her before today. Once again she chalked it up to the feeling of dread inside her. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily that something was going to happen, but the fact that something had happened. In a matter of a few weeks, everything around her had changed. She was still one of four sisters, but those sisters had all moved on, moved out. Pretty soon it was just going to be her. When Norma Rose and Ty moved into the old farmhouse where they’d all lived before the resort had been built, it would be just her and her father occupying the family area of the second floor.

First Ginger had left, then after tonight, Twyla would no longer be there and soon Norma Rose would be gone—although, while Norma Rose thought no one knew, she hadn’t been sleeping in her room for weeks. She spent most nights at Ty’s cabin. One of the twenty the resort owned that lined the lakeshore.

All that could cause her to be out of sorts. After all, her father would surely notice her comings and goings a lot more in the future. Meaning she’d have to be a lot more careful. Along with making sure Scooter didn’t snitch on her.

He was frowning and looking at her curiously.

“A tent, huh?” Josie said, pretending she hadn’t been thinking about other things. She let her gaze wander around the fountain, toward the big island in the center of the lake. “We all used to play out there,” she said. “Back in the day.”

“I remember your foot being bandaged when school started one year. You’d stepped on a nail out there.”

She’d like to have said she’d forgotten about that. Some of the other kids had teased her and Scooter had put a stop to them. Trying to forget that part, she said, “My grandmother said I was going to get blood poisoning from that nail and insisted I keep my foot above my heart at all times.” Shaking her head, she admitted, “I thought she meant forever. I was afraid I’d die right at my desk when school started.”

“I’m glad that didn’t happen.” With a wink, he added, “Old Mrs. McGillicuddy would have died right alongside you. Besides being as blind as a bat, she was afraid of her own shadow.”

“Probably because you boys were so mean to her,” Josie suggested.

“Mean? We weren’t mean to her,” he said. “She was so easily frightened we couldn’t help but put a stick or two in her desk drawer. She’s the one that thought they were snakes.”

Josie almost laughed at the memories, until she recalled she was still mad at Scooter. Standing here laughing over foolish childish pranks wouldn’t—or at least shouldn’t—lessen that. “Well,” she said seriously, “Mrs. McGillicuddy was a much better teacher than Miss Jenkins.”

Scooter lifted an eyebrow before he leaned closer. “Miss Jenkins,” he whispered, “was too busy chasing after the older boys to teach anyone anything.”

For some unfathomable reason, heat stung her cheeks. It didn’t have anything to do with Miss Jenkins. She barely remembered the woman. The influenza epidemic had hit shortly after she’d taken over as teacher and school had been closed for months.

“She married Dac’s cousin,” Scooter said. “They live over by St. Cloud and have five or six kids, last I heard.”

The cheering crowd brought her attention back to the dance floor, where Twyla and Forrest were embraced in a rather heated kiss. Along with everyone else, Josie watched, and wondered. Many things had changed in her life. Teachers. The epidemic that had taken her mother, brother and grandparents away in a swoop. She’d missed them terribly at first, still mourned the losses, but not even their deaths had left her with the uncanny sense of dread she felt today.

Perhaps because she’d been too young. She was twenty-one now, an age where she understood cause and effect, and consequences.

After a roaring round of applause, girls started passing out ice cream and cake. Josie once again looked for an escape route, but people were crowding closer, vying for the next bowl. Scooter handed her one that held both cake and ice cream, and a spoon.

“Let’s move over a bit.”

She started to protest, but was cut short when someone bumped into her.

Scooter caught her bowl before it toppled. “This way,” he said.

Josie followed him a few feet, to where he stopped next to Ty and Norma Rose. She’d barely taken a bite when Norma Rose shoved another bowl in her direction.

“Hold this.” Her sister then grabbed Ty’s bowl and Scooter’s. “We have to get those tables off the dance floor.”

“Why?” Josie asked as she took the bowls Norma Rose handed her. Having waited tables plenty of times, balancing all four was easy.

“That’s why,” Norma Rose said.

Josie turned in the direction her sister pointed. Their other newly acquired brother-in-law, Brock Ness, had positioned himself behind the piano that had also been transported outside as another round of applause echoed through the air. Brock was an excellent musician and the locals had missed his performances since he’d left for Chicago.

“Once he starts playing, people will crowd the floor, tables or not,” Norma Rose said.

Ty and Scooter followed Norma Rose. Frustration filled Josie as she glanced down at the four bowls full of untouched cake and ice cream. Spying a waitress nearby now gathering empty plates, Josie wasted no time in getting rid of all four. A touch of guilt ensued, but she ignored it. Scooter, as well as Norma Rose and Ty, could get more cake and ice cream. There was plenty.

She’d made it almost to the far side of the dance floor when a familiar hold once again caught her arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Scooter asked.

“I have things to see to,” she said, twisting her arm.

“No, you don’t,” he said. “I heard Moe tell you everything was under control.”

“In the kitchen,” she said. “But there’s—”

“Nothing you need to see to right now.” Turning her toward him, he said, “Let’s cut a rug.”

“I don’t want to dance,” she said, spinning around. The flash of a camera bulb momentarily blinded her. Newspapermen were everywhere today, hoping to get a picture of Babe Ruth.

“Too bad,” Scooter said. “Whether you want to or not, we’re dancing.”

She truly didn’t have much of a choice. Others were pushing their way onto the dance floor, hurling her and Scooter forward with their momentum.

Brock hit the piano keys and the first notes ripped through the crowd like a buzz saw. People shouted, their hoots and hollers loud enough to frighten the seagulls from the air.

Josie stifled her protest as Scooter glided her into his arms and she allowed him to whisk her across the floor. He was an excellent dancer, especially of the Charleston. The two of them had been paired up in an impromptu dance-off a few weeks ago, which had been more fun than she’d had in ages.

The tempo of the song increased and she and Scooter held hands as they spun forward to rush through the steps of the popular dance. People bumped into her and Scooter pulled her closer before swiftly guiding her around to his other side.

“I don’t want someone to step on your toes,” he shouted above the ruckus. “Your feet have already been damaged enough from wearing those ugly green shoes.”

Josie had to laugh. “Thank you,” she shouted in return. “Your gallantry is outstanding.”

In the middle of his fast dance steps, he gave her a brief bow, which had them both laughing. Having grown up with him, she’d never felt uncomfortable around Scooter, as she’d felt around others, and she’d gone to him, on more than one occasion, when she’d needed things. Mechanical things usually. Having a car she could count on was an important aspect of her life.

They danced through the next two songs Brock played, and when, after striking the final chords as only Brock could, he stood up from behind the piano, Josie was more than a little winded.

Scooter was, as well, or at least he acted that way, and said, “Water, I need water.”

Laughing, Josie led him away from the dance floor, to where a table of nonalcoholic punch and soda was set up. She picked up a soda and drank half of it as Slim Johnson made his way to the piano. Wayne Sears, another musician they’d hired for the night, was somewhere at the resort, too. When the dance-off started, they’d need more than one. A large number of people had signed up for the contest.

Her father was beside Slim and as the musician sat down, her father once again held up a hand, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, as a hush came over the crowd. “I want to thank all of you for attending this first ever Fourth of July barbecue here at Nightingale’s.” Once the applause died, he added, “It’s been so successful, we’ll have to make it a yearly event.” Finding the baseball player amid the crowd, he asked, “What do you say, Babe?”

Babe Ruth held his glass up in salute, and once again the crowd went wild.

“You’ve all met my daughter Twyla,” her father then said, “the girl who got married today, and I want to introduce you to my other daughters.”

Josie’s heart sank. He’d never publically introduced them before. Although she was proud of her father, never being in the limelight suited her. She liked being the mediocre sister. The one no one recognized. It meant she could wear britches and go barefoot when she wanted to.

Scanning the crowd, her father said, “Norma Rose, you and Ty come up here. Twyla, you and Forrest. Ginger? Where’s my baby girl? Aw, there she is. Brock, bring her up here. And Josie...?”

She wanted to slink under the table. Particularly when her father said, “Scooter, bring Josie up here, will you?”

“Come on,” Scooter said.

Scooter’s hand landed in the middle of her back. It might appear he was simply guiding her forward, but in actuality, he was shoving hard.

“Everyone’s watching,” he said, without making his lips move.

“I know,” she answered in the same manner.

“It’ll only take a minute,” he said.

The dread that had been inside her doubled. She’d always known it would happen someday, that she’d be pointed out as one of The Night’s daughters, and that it would change her life. She’d no longer be able to hide in the shadows.

She and Scooter arrived near her sisters, but the pounding of blood in her ears was too loud for her to hear what her father was saying. Something about Nightingale’s being a family business, and that this was the family. The family. Her sisters claimed they’d felt like prisoners, trapped in their bedrooms, but this was where she felt the iron bars surrounding her. Being a Nightingale had come to mean being something she wasn’t. It had given her a station in life she’d never wanted. And it was full of expectations. There were things being a Nightingale provided, but the list of things they couldn’t do was longer. Unfortunately, those were the things that made her who she was.

Eventually her father stopped talking, and the clapping and cheering slowed. Josie wasted no time in making her exit. She made it all the way to the resort building, but didn’t go up the balcony steps—there were too many people—instead she headed for the corner of the building and the side doors there.

“Good grief, do you have wings instead of feet?”

Josie hadn’t realized Scooter was still at her side. The fact he’d been pulled center stage along with her overrode any lingering anger. “I’m sorry about that.”

“About what?”

“That,” she said. “Being pointed out.”

“Your father’s proud of you, Josie, of all of his daughters. He just wanted to acknowledge that.”

“Maybe some of us don’t want to be acknowledged,” she answered, finally arriving at the side door that led to the storeroom. Josie clasped the doorknob, worried Scooter was going to start another argument. That would take more energy than she had right now. This day truly couldn’t end soon enough.

But it wasn’t Scooter’s voice that had her spinning around.

Chapter Three

Scooter stepped aside so Josie could see past him. Having recognized Gloria Kasper’s voice, he hadn’t turned around. Anger once again stirred his insides. The fury had left him for a few minutes, while he and Josie had been dancing. Now, seeing the shadows back in her eyes, he wanted to tell Gloria the same thing he’d told his mother. Leave Josie alone. Find someone else to do their dirty work.

“Hello, Eric,” Gloria greeted him.

He bit the tip of his tongue before turning about. “Hello.” The bitterness in Gloria’s eyes told him exactly what he’d already known. His mother had told the other woman what he thought. What he knew. Not that it would matter to Gloria. She had her own agenda. As always. Short, round and gray-haired, she looked as fierce as an angry badger as she strolled toward them.

“I know you won’t mind, Eric,” she said formidably, using his given name as if that gave her authority. “I need to speak with Josie.”

“Actually, Gloria, I do mind,” Scooter said. Normally, out of respect, he addressed her as Mrs. Kasper. He wasn’t feeling overly respectful right now. “Josie and I are busy.”

Gloria’s wrinkled lips pursed while a gasp sounded from Josie.

“Well, I never,” Gloria snapped, her nostrils flaring like a bull’s. “I insist on speaking with Josie this very moment.” She reached out and grabbed Josie’s arm, tugging her forward. “What I have to say is extremely important.”

Scooter grabbed Josie’s other arm. “I can’t believe it’s that important.”

“Eric,” Gloria snarled, “don’t do this.” She pulled Josie toward her again.

He tugged her back his way. “I could say the same to you, Gloria. Now is not the time or place.”

Gloria gave Josie another hard pull. “Young man, I—”

“You’ll what?” Scooter challenged, pulling Josie back.

“I—”

“Stop!” Josie twisted until neither of them held her arms. “Stop it, both of you.”

Regret washed over Scooter. He was acting like an idiot, to both Gloria and Josie. The older woman wasn’t bad; she’d helped a lot of people, including his family when they’d needed it, and continued to assist others. He just didn’t want her sending Josie out on another run. Not today. Not ever. It had grown too dangerous, yet he seemed to be the only one to realize that.

Josie glanced between him and Gloria. The sorrow in her eyes stabbed at him, and left him feeling about as low as a flat tire. He had no right to step in, but his intuition said he had to.

“I have to talk with Gloria, Scooter,” Josie said, almost apologetically. “I won’t be long.”

He’d fully expected her to tell him to get lost. It wasn’t as if she’d invited him to wait for her, but what she’d said could give that impression. “I’ll wait here,” he said.

A tiny smile tugged at her lips and she shook her head. “Go back to the party. I’ll see you there.”

He shook his head. “I’ll wait here.”

Gloria rushed Josie through the door before any more could be said. It was just as well. Scooter didn’t have much more to say. He wouldn’t until he figured out a way to stop Josie. Telling her to stop wasn’t working. Josie had a mind of her own. He’d always admired that about her, long before any of this nonsense had started.

Even as a kid, Josie had caught and held his attention. Although she’d always been quiet and thoughtful, when riled, Josie had stood up for the underdog like no other. That had all been years ago, before he’d left school to become the family breadwinner.

Whenever he heard someone complain about how slowly time seems to go by, he wanted to tell them to start paying a few bills. They’d soon see how fast the first of the month rolled around, how quickly another month’s rent was due and how gallons of milk could disappear as if they’d never been there in the first place.

He’d never known his family was poor. At least his parents had never complained about it. After his father died, Scooter quickly discovered the few dollars he made delivering groceries on his motorized bike wasn’t enough to keep a family of mice in cheese. His hobby of tinkering with motors came in handy then. The location of their house along the highway played in his favor, too. Little by little he’d added services, but it wasn’t until Nightingale’s took off that he’d started making enough money to truly live on. That had been a godsend, and he knew it could disappear just as fast. Without Roger Nightingale and the business the man brought in, this entire area would dry up faster than yesterday’s bread left uncovered on the counter.

A lot had happened in the past ten years. He’d been fourteen when his father had died, and three years later, his brother-in-law had been killed while serving in the army overseas. Maize had just given birth to Jonas when they’d received word about John. Shortly thereafter, Maize could no longer afford to stay in the house she and John had rented since getting married, and she had moved back home. When Jonas had started school three years ago, Maize had gone to work over at the Plantation, and had come up missing less than a month later.

Another bout of disgust, or guilt, assaulted Scooter’s guts. He wasn’t exactly sure what had happened back then, but he knew Gloria had been behind Maize’s return. Scooter understood he was indebted to Gloria for bringing his sister home, but he couldn’t let what had happened to Maize happen to Josie. Gloria had to realize not even Roger Nightingale was in the same league as the gangsters that were responsible for the girls working the docks in Duluth.

It really was a tangled mess.

If Josie was captured, there was no guarantee she’d be rescued like his sister had been. The Ladies Aid Society his mother and Gloria were associated with was the way Josie had become involved. Dressed in britches, she visited the shipyards of Duluth regularly to pass out rubbers to the women working the docks, selling their wares to the sailors.

None of this was something a Ladies Aid Society should be a part of.

It wasn’t all of them. Just a select few knew the activities taking place under the concealment of their meetings. Most of the women thought all of the members were busy throwing birthday parties and putting on bird-watching symposiums. A good number would faint dead if they learned about Josie hauling condoms up to Duluth every Tuesday.

He’d only learned about it because his mother had told him a car had been delivered to the station that needed to go faster. Seeing the vehicle was Nightingale’s hadn’t surprised him. He’d rebuilt carburetors, put in larger radiators and fitted extra fuel tanks in all of the automobiles Roger Nightingale’s hired men drove. A month later he’d discovered the latest coupe he’d worked on was being driving by Josie. Bronco, Roger’s number one man, had brought the car over to get fuel, as he did for all of the cars the daughters drove, and had mentioned Josie sure used a lot of gas going to her Ladies Aid meetings.

Scooter’s stomach fell almost as hard and fast now as it had in the past. He should have put a stop to it then. That had been his first mistake. His second had been keeping his mouth shut all this time.

“Hey, Scooter.”

“Hey, Dave,” Scooter replied, as Josie’s uncle walked through the manicured trees. Dave Sutton lived in one of the bungalows on the other side of the pine trees. Not wanting to have to come up with an excuse as to what he was doing hanging around the resort’s back door, Scooter asked, “How’s your Chevy running?”

“Good. Those new tires you put on sure made a difference.”

“Glad to hear it. Firestone makes a good tire, but only Fords come off the assembly line with them. Henry Ford knew what he was doing when he formed that partnership,” Scooter said, trying not to look at the door behind him. He should never have let Josie go with Gloria. They had to be up to something.

“It’s all about who you know, not what you know,” Dave said before he asked, “How are Maize and Jonas?”

“Good,” Scooter answered. The baseball bat, mitt and ball that had been left on the family’s porch a couple of weeks ago had been from Dave. Just like several other birthday and Christmas gifts that had magically appeared on their porch over the years for Scooter’s nephew. For whatever reason, Dave didn’t want anyone to know he was the one that dropped them off. “Jonas had a birthday a couple of weeks ago, turned eight.”

“Time flies,” Dave said. “I remember when John got the letter from Maize saying the baby had arrived and that it was a boy.”

A moment of silence spread between them. Dave and John had been shipped overseas together, and though the other man never spoke of it, Scooter had heard Dave was at John’s side when he died. Even though Dave had been Josie’s mother’s brother, he’d moved back in with the Nightingales when he returned home, and now was Roger’s top salesman. He carried around a suitcase full of resort brochures, but sample bottles of whiskey—Minnesota 13—were tucked inside hidden compartments. The home brew was better than the stuff the Canadians made and had become world-renowned. Thanks to Roger.

Everyone knew that, but no one mentioned it. A man might as well cut his own arm off if he did. The entire area thrived because of Roger’s business, and no one wanted things to go back to the way they’d been.

“Jonas is here somewhere,” Scooter said, still trying to keep the conversation off what he was doing. He nodded toward the crowd that littered the slope leading toward the lake. “He’s excited to stay late enough to see the fireworks.”

“It is the Fourth of July,” Dave said. “And those nieces of mine outdid themselves with this party.”

“They sure enough did,” Scooter agreed, glancing toward the door.

“I’ll mosey around, see if I can find Jonas and say hi,” Dave said.

“Try the beach,” Scooter said. “He was convinced he’d learn how to swim today. Otherwise just listen for the popping noise. I bought him several rolls of firecrackers.”

“I bet that made him happy.”

“It sure did,” Scooter said. The firecrackers were only a nickel for a hundred, and he’d gladly paid the minimal price. There had been times in his life where a nickel had seemed like a dollar. Now, thanks to Roger Nightingale’s success, his fueling station allowed him to spend money a bit frivolously once in a while. He’d picked up several boxes of sparklers, too, for Jonas to share with his friends later on in the evening.

“I’ll see you around,” Scooter said, stepping closer to the door. Josie should have returned by now.

Dave nodded and waved as he took his leave. Scooter grabbed the doorknob but didn’t have time to pull it open.

“Hey, Scooter, hold up.”

His fingers clenched the door handle before he let it loose and Scooter pulled up a smile for the couple walking hand in hand toward him. Getting hit by a Studebaker couldn’t have shocked him more than the sight of Brock and Ginger pulling up to his gas pumps that morning. He and Brock had been friends since childhood and Scooter had questioned if he’d ever see Brock again when his old pal had headed down to Chicago to perform on the radio several weeks ago.

Brock had defied Roger Nightingale by refusing to perform solely at the resort and leaving town, which had been an act few men would have the guts to follow through on. Marrying Ginger, Roger’s youngest daughter, could have gotten Brock killed, too. Scooter figured Brock didn’t have a chip on his shoulder; he had an angel.

“Where’s Josie?” Ginger asked.

Scooter gestured toward the door. “Inside, talking with Gloria Kasper.”

Ginger shot a concerned glance at Brock and then asked, “Why? Is she not feeling well?”

It was still hard to believe Brock and Ginger were married. Then again, Scooter had been shocked to see Norma Rose at his gas station with Ty Bradshaw earlier this summer, and again when he’d heard Twyla had gone flying with Forrest in his airplane. A lot had changed this summer. Maybe all that contributed to his urgency to make Josie stop her Duluth runs. The fact her sisters weren’t around to keep her in line meant it was up to him.

He doubted any of the sisters knew of Josie’s activities. They’d have told their father and Roger would have put a stop to it all long ago. “She’s fine,” he answered. “It was probably something to do with the party.”

“I can’t believe all that’s happened in the short time we’ve been gone,” Ginger said. “It’s like I left one world and returned to another.” Her sparkling eyes were once again gazing up at Brock.

The two of them looked as love-struck as two doves on a telephone wire. Feeling a bit like an intruder, Scooter looked the other way when Brock leaned down to kiss her, and didn’t turn back until Ginger spoke.

“I’m going to find Josie,” she said. “The dance-off is about to start.”

The prize for the winner of the dance contest was a hundred bucks. Not for the couple to share, but a hundred bucks each. Scooter had read that in the advertisements. Add Babe Ruth, Twyla’s wedding and fireworks, and it was no wonder half the state was in attendance. Those who lived out of town and couldn’t find rooms to rent had set up tents in empty lots and backyards. This would be an event the town would remember for a long time.

When Ginger disappeared through the side door, Scooter once again attempted to shift his attention off how long Josie had been gone. “I thought I was seeing things when you pulled into my place this morning.”

Brock laughed. “Your face said as much.”

“That new car you’re driving says things turned out real swell for you in Chicago.” Scooter stated the obvious.

“If I hadn’t lived it, I wouldn’t have believed it.” Brock’s gaze shot back to the door where Ginger had disappeared. “Some days I still don’t believe it.”

Scooter playfully punched his friend in the arm. “We all knew you’d make it big.”

“I don’t think I would have if not for Ginger,” Brock said. “She’s the reason we’re home. When she heard about Twyla’s wedding, she told Oscar—Oscar Goldman, he’s the owner of the radio station, that we were coming home. She promised to bring back a case of baseballs signed by Babe Ruth to give away on the radio.” Brock laughed. “She already has two cases, signed, in the trunk.”

Scooter chuckled. “I’m sure Babe Ruth couldn’t say no to Ginger.” Curious, he asked, “How’d she end up in Chicago?”

“Now, that, my friend, is a long story,” Brock said. “And calling Roger to tell him I’d found her under the tarp of my truck when I’d stopped for fuel on the other side of Wisconsin was one of the scariest things I’d ever done.”

“Under the tarp of your truck?” Scooter shook his head. “I put the tarp on your truck while you were locking horns with Roger about leaving.”

“I know,” Brock said. “And she climbed in right afterward.” Growing serious, Brock added, “Don’t let any one of those Nightingale girls fool you. They’re sneaky when they want to be.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Scooter mumbled under his breath.

“You dating Josie?” Brock asked.

“Nope.”

When Scooter didn’t elaborate, Brock said, “I guess I assumed you were when Roger called you and her over with the rest of us.”

“I was just standing next to her,” Scooter explained. “A case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Brock grinned. “If you say so.”

“I say so, all right,” Scooter said, withholding the truth. Trying to keep Josie from being shipped to some foreign land came nowhere near dating her. Changing the subject, he asked, “When are you heading back to Chicago?”

“Monday,” Brock said. “Want to spend some time with my mom and dad tomorrow.”

That reminded Scooter of another case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Last year Brock’s dad had been shot while delivering milk down in St. Paul. A raid had been happening nearby and the bullet that struck Rodney Ness had left the man paralyzed from the waist down.

“Ma said he’s been getting out a lot more lately,” Brock said. “Says that wheelchair has made all the difference.”

Scooter guessed it wasn’t so much the chair that made the real difference for Rodney as the fact Brock had bought it with earnings he’d made by singing on the radio. He figured Brock knew that, as well. Rodney Ness couldn’t stop talking about his radio-star son.

They conversed a bit longer, about nothing in particular. All the while, both of them kept sending curious glances toward the door. When Ginger appeared by herself, Brock grinned while Scooter frowned.

“I can’t find her anywhere,” Ginger said. “Norma Rose will be furious. She said none of us could win the prize, that wouldn’t look right, but we all have to participate in the contest.”

“That didn’t stop her from winning the last dance-off,” Scooter said, when really he wanted to ask Ginger where she’d looked. The place was massive, with three stories covered in inch-thick red carpet, varnished oak wainscoting and stair rails, and velvet curtains covering more windows than a man could count. It was a palace in comparison to his humble home, and Josie had to be in there somewhere.

“You know Norma Rose,” Ginger said.

Not as well as he knew Josie. Unable to stop himself, he asked, “You checked everywhere for Josie?”

“Yes,” Ginger answered. “The offices, the bedrooms, the kitchen.”

“Maybe they went out another door,” Brock suggested.

Scooter spun around to stare at the garage full of cars, all owned by Roger. Surely he’d have heard if one had started. “You look ’round the back,” he said. “I’ll go out front.”

Brock grabbed his arm before Scooter had taken more than a step. “What do you know that we don’t?”

Scooter was sick of lying, but didn’t have much choice. “Nothing. Other than the wrath of Norma Rose.”

Brock’s gaze said he didn’t believe that, but his friend must have chosen not to say more in front of Ginger.

“Bring her straight to the dance floor if you find her,” Ginger said. “We’ll do the same.”

Scooter didn’t bother answering and kicked his feet into a sprint. The garage was full, every car in its place, including Josie’s red-and-black coupe. Walter, another one of Roger’s men, was there.

“Have you seen Josie?” Scooter asked.

The portly man dropped the book he’d been reading and leaped up from his chair just inside the door. “No, why? What’s happened?”

Scooter attempted to disguise a bit of his distress. “Nothing,” he said, heading for Josie’s car. Unlatching the hood, he lifted it and reached in to disconnect the ignition wire. Closing the hood, he told Walter, “I’m making sure it stays that way. Don’t tell her I was here.”

Walter lifted a brow.

“Trust me.” Walking out of the open doorway, Scooter spun around. “Don’t let her in another car, either.”

“I’ll pull the keys,” Walter said, “but does Roger know?”

“There’s no place she needs to go today,” Scooter said. “Roger will agree with that.” Turning around, he headed for the front door of the resort. Cars of all makes and models filled the parking lot. Some he recognized as belonging to regular customers, others he’d never seen before. Josie could jump in and drive away in any number of them; more than half had the keys sticking in the ignition.

Scooter shook his head as he entered the resort’s double front doors. Someday people would learn to take their keys with them. Car theft didn’t happen in these parts, but someday it would.

He checked the offices, the ballroom, the kitchen and storerooms, along with every other door he came upon before taking the back staircase to the second floor. Halfway down the hall he came to a heavy door that obviously separated family rooms from the rest of the guest rooms.

Opening and closing doors, he concluded whose room was whose by the colors of the walls. Pink for Ginger, red for Norma Rose, green for Twyla and white for Josie. The rooms were empty and he didn’t bother checking the third floor. Josie wouldn’t be up there.

Scooter jogged back down the hall and the staircase that led into the ballroom. Then, with his footsteps echoing, he crossed the floor and passed the empty bar to exit the building onto the balcony. Searching for a pond-green dress, he found Twyla and Norma Rose, and then Ginger, although the youngest sister was wearing a red polka-dot dress. But there was no sign of Josie. His mother, however, was standing next to the cake table on the far side of the dance floor.

“Hello, Eric,” she greeted him as he arrived at her side. “I’m getting Jonas another piece of cake. He’s certainly enjoying the day.”

His nephew was usually at the top of Scooter’s list, but even Jonas had to take second place right now. “Where’s Josie?” Scooter asked. “And don’t tell me you don’t know. Gloria ushered her into the house.” Adding gravity to his tone, he added, “To talk.”

His mother opened her mouth, but closed it as she glanced around. When she turned back to him, she leaned closer to whisper, “This is none of your affair, Eric.”

This was the woman who’d given birth to him and kept him alive through those days when food was short and heat almost nonexistent, yet, at this moment, she was nothing more than a barrier. “Where is she, Mother? Today is not a day to send her off on one of your missions. I won’t put up with it and neither will Roger.”

Startled to the point her slice of cake toppled off the plate in her hand, she asked, “You haven’t told him, have you?”

Scooter didn’t answer, just stared her down.

One of the many girls hired to keep guests happy by serving glasses of their choice and keeping the place neat and tidy appeared with a new slice of cake on a clean plate. She took the plate from his mother’s hand and, after scooping the cake off the ground, the girl disappeared just as quickly as she’d come.

Thankfully, for he didn’t want a family showdown in the middle of the party, his mother realized how serious he was.

“She’s with Gloria. In the Willow.”

All of the resort’s twenty cabins along the shoreline were named, and he knew the Willow was settled between two large willow trees among the north set of cabins. Spinning around and forcing his feet to move at a normal pace in order to not draw attention to himself, Scooter headed toward the pathway that led to the cabins. All the while, his heart rate increased.

Once the trees hid him from most of the partygoers, he increased his speed. His mind raced, too, telling him over and over that he shouldn’t have let Josie out of his sight. That had been his plan and he should have stuck to it. Shortly after collecting her from Duluth, a truck driver with a flat tire had pulled into his station. The truck was from the huge US Steel plant in Duluth. While working on the tire, Scooter had mentioned he’d recently been in Duluth. The man asked if he’d visited the docks and the girls there. With a few innocent-sounding questions, Scooter had learned all sorts of information from that truck driver and none of it was anything Josie should be involved in.

Upon arrival at the little green-and-white cabin, he leaped up the two steps and threw open the door.

Gloria was still jumping up from a chair at the table when Scooter slammed the door shut behind him. “Where’s Josie?”

A single glance toward the bedroom door told him all he needed to know.

“You can’t go in there,” Gloria declared, as he started in direction of the door.

“You can’t stop me.” He was already pushing open the door, and what he saw not only stopped him in his tracks, but it also sent his temper soaring. “Get your dress back on.”

* * *

Josie finished buttoning the top of her white blouse before spinning around. A combination of anger and relief surged across her stomach. Going with anger, she planted her hands on the waistband of her dungarees. “I will not.”

“Yes, you will.”

“No, I won’t.” This sounded a lot like the conversation she’d had with Gloria a short time ago. That argument she’d lost. This one, she wouldn’t. Scooter had no say in what she did or when she did it, and it was beyond time he realized that.

He strode forward. “You either change back into your dress, or I will.”

“Go ahead,” she said. “It’s an ugly dress, but I doubt it’ll fit you.”

The anger in his eyes was enough to make her flinch, but he didn’t notice her reaction, not with Gloria storming into the room.

“Eric, this is none of your business,” the woman insisted. “Now leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, “and neither is Josie.”

Josie had half a mind to tell him he was wasting his breath, but some people just had to learn that on their own. She had learned it years ago. Offering an opinion when no one was willing to listen was as useless as raking leaves during a storm.

“Do you honestly think she can sneak away on one of your missions today?” he was asking Gloria. “The entire family is looking for her. The dance-off is about to start, and Roger wants her on the floor along with her sisters—

Gloria frowned. “What dance-off?”

Since the doctor was now looking her way, Josie answered, “It’s for the guests.”

“Not just for the guests,” Scooter said none too quietly. “Your sisters say it can’t start until you’re there.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Gloria asked.

Josie wanted to scream. She had told Gloria sneaking away today would be too difficult, but when it came to her cause, Gloria dismissed any obstacles in her way. Normally, Josie did, too, but today things just hadn’t felt right. Hence the relief at Scooter’s arrival that softened her spine. She wouldn’t tell anyone, or let it show, but the thought of traveling to Duluth today frightened her. In all honesty, the past couple of missions had scared her—ever since she’d been arrested for speeding.

“You must have known about it,” Scooter said to Gloria. “It’s been in all the advertisements about the party.”

“Blast it,” Gloria said as she took to pacing the floor. “With Francine Wilks and her number one henchman here, we have a chance of discovering where those girls are.”

Josie flinched, and noted how Scooter noticed this time. He was sharp, and Gloria should have realized how much information her babbling was giving away. Then again, Gloria was no fool, and most likely knew exactly what she was doing. To be fair, Scooter probably knew that, too.

He took Gloria’s arm with one hand and pointed at the pea-green dress with the other. “Put that back on,” he said, while pulling the other woman to the door. “And be quick about it.”

Josie feared quick wouldn’t be quick enough. It would still give Scooter time to question Gloria about their activities. Francine Wilks had a warehouse in Duluth where she kept girls “that weren’t ready,” as the madam had put it. Francine didn’t mind her working girls receiving the free condoms Josie passed out along the waterfront, but the woman didn’t let anyone near her captives.

Scooter didn’t need to know any of that. Josie headed for the door as he pulled it closed, and she grabbed the knob before the door shut.

“You can leave, Scooter.” Josie knew he wouldn’t leave just because she told him to. “Please go tell my sisters I’ll be right there. I don’t want them looking for me.”

“I’ll wait,” he said. “Deliver you to the dance floor myself.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said.

“It won’t be necessary for me to put that dress back on you, either,” he said staunchly, “but if you don’t hurry up, I will.”

“Hurry up, Josie,” Gloria said. “I’ll keep Scooter company while you change.”

That was exactly what she didn’t want to happen. She didn’t need Scooter learning more than he already knew about her Tuesday adventures. He’d never understand.

“Are you waiting for help?” he asked.

“No,” she snapped.

“Then get dressed.”

Josie slammed the door. Maybe he and Gloria should pair up and leave her completely out of things. It had gotten to be more than she’d bargained for lately.

Her anger melted away like the swan-shaped ice sculpture near the fountain. The ice had yielded to the sun before Twyla and Forrest’s wedding, and now Josie had to yield, too, to the truth that things had only become more than she’d bargained for because of her.

The rules were that she passed out condoms and brought back any bits of information she gathered. However, when one of Francine’s girls had told Josie about the warehouse, she’d had to investigate. One of the guards had seen her sneaking around and had given chase. Afraid her little car couldn’t outrun his larger one, she’d taken the road that led directly past the police station, hoping an officer would see her speeding by.

One had.

She’d been arrested.

And she’d called Scooter to come and get her.

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