Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington (8 page)

Kenny let out a lingering breath. Whether with an official U.S. Army unit or not, Nick had still worked on the front lines in France. He’d risked his life transporting not only French soldiers fighting against the Nazis, but also women and children.

How many people had Nick risked his life to rescue?

He’d sacrificed plenty, long before the United States was even in the war. At a time when most Americans agreed that staying neutral was their best option, Nick had shipped off overseas to make a difference. And he’d paid a heavy price for his convictions. He’d never walk again without a limp. He’d never run. Never live without pain.

Which was why Kenny wanted—needed—to write that story. If only his boss would let him. Kenny sighed as Nick’s band, The Jaybirds, closed their set with, “I’ll Never Smile Again,” by Tommy Dorsey.

“
I’ll never smile again until I smile at you
,” Kenny sang along, under his breath.

The lead singer, a Dorothy Lamour look-alike with a sultry voice and swaying hips, rasped the last verse as if her vocal cords were scraping over asphalt. Kenny wondered if she’d make it through another set.

The song finished. Nick set his bass on its stand and ambled to the mic. “Back in fifteen, folks.” Then he whispered something to the vocalist before stepping off the stage.

A waitress wearing a blue and white polka-dotted apron over a short, puffy skirt popped over to Kenny’s table. Her bare legs caused him to blush. Now Kenny knew why Nick liked working at this place.

“Done with that, mister?” she asked.

“Oh, he’s done all right.” Flipping a chair around, Nick straddled it, giving the waitress a grin. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Rolling her eyes, the waitress picked up his plate. “Aw, Nick, you’re flappin’ your gums again.” A flattered smile turned up her rubied lips, and a blush tinted her neck. Kenny had seen this before—the Nick Effect. A “hi, sweetheart” was all it took to send some girls tripping over their feet.

“Bring me the usual, will ya, sweetcakes?” Nick winked.

She nodded and flashed a smile. “You got it,” she said, sashaying to the kitchen.

Kenny folded his arms and waited for Nick to finish ogling the waitress’s legs.

Catching sight of Kenny’s teasing scorn, he raised an innocent palm. “What? What’d I do?”

“Must you
always
be fishing?”

“Always.” Nick nodded decisively. “Nice gams on that doll.”

“I suppose.” Kenny shrugged. “But Mama taught me that a girl’s good looks soon fade, while what’s in her heart just keeps getting more beautiful.” He grinned, knowing Nick would probably tease him for talking about his mama.

Nick tossed his head back in a hearty laugh. “Gotta love your sweet mother’s advice.”

“Pay attention. She’s got some good things to say. You might learn something.”

“Probably more than I ever learned from my own mama.” Nick’s gaze dropped to his hands. “Yours was more of a mother to me than mine ever was. I listened to everything she told me about Jesus.”

Kenny’s heart rate jumped at his friend’s unexpected mention of Christ. Was Nick finally ready to talk about this? Kenny had been praying for him, especially ever since Nick had lived with him after returning from Europe. He didn’t want to push his friend, but he hoped Nick was paying attention. Did he see Kenny reading the Word and going to church? Did Nick wonder about the strength he saw in Kenny? The peace only God could give? It was hard to know if any of it seeped in.

“I know she’s right, and”—Nick’s eyes reflected thoughtfulness—“I might change someday. You know, follow the straight and narrow. But I’m just not ready now. I’m having too much fun.”

Then, in a flash, Nick’s serious moment blew away, and the sunny Nick returned. “Enough about me, for pete’s sake.” Nick slapped Kenny’s arm. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve kept this place from you long enough.” Laughter tumbled from Nick’s throat. “Let me buy you another Dr Pepper, and we’ll talk about that feisty little dolly-bird who spurned you today.” He emphasized
spurned
as if relishing Kenny’s rejection.

Kenny smiled, yet inside he wished Nick had lingered on spiritual matters a bit longer. Still, Kenny knew the worst thing he could do was press the issue. He determined to follow his friend’s lead and talk when the time was right. But he’d also continue praying…most definitely praying.

Kenny took a sip from his soda, then shook his head. “Spurned? I don’t know what you mean. But you’ll never believe it. One of her friends—or at least I guess it was her friend—rode up on a motorcycle and gave me Rosalie’s number. I’m considering doing a story on her, but I don’t want to date her.”

Nick’s gaze shifted past Kenny toward the door. “Oh, really?” A knowing smile creased his face. “Well, here’s your chance to tell her that.”

The welcoming bells on the door jingled, and girlish laughter flowed into the Igloo. Kenny looked over his shoulder, following Nick’s gaze. A cluster of ladies from the Boeing plant exploded through the front entrance, their voices resounding through the room.

“All the day long,
whether rain or shine,
she’s a part of the assembly line.
She’s making history,
working for victory,
Rosie the Riveter.”

Nick hobbled to the stage, as if inspired by their song, and Kenny turned in his seat toward the singing.

Smiling and laughing, the brown-haired lioness from this afternoon, surrounded by her gaggle of friends, strolled past Kenny’s table.

“Rosalie,” he whispered.

“Gee, Rosalie,” one of them said, “I think you should get some type a reward for your big achievement. How ’bout it, girls? Who wants to pitch in for Rosalie’s favorite—a double cheeseburger with fries? And Birdie too—Rosalie couldn’t have done it without Birdie! Waitress, can you put in that order for us?”

“Hey, don’t be calling her Rosalie. She’s Rosie from here on out! Rosie the Riveter,” a petite woman called out.

“Add a chocolate malt to Birdie and
Rosie’s
order,” a tall woman added. “It’s not every day something like this happens to one of our own.”

Kenny’s heart slammed against his ribs. Until now, seeing her praised by these women, he hadn’t realized how impressive she really was. Suddenly, he wanted to talk to her.
Really
talk to her. He lifted the paper with her number from his pocket.

“Whoopee ding, girlie! We did it!” Birdie wrapped an arm around Rosalie’s neck. A flock of their coworkers, just as keyed up as they were, circled around them.

“We did, didn’t we?” Rosalie planted an exuberant kiss on the top of her petite friend’s head. “Where’s the music? It’s time to celebrate!”

Rosalie’s right arm ached, her feet throbbed, her ears buzzed from the never-ending
bam!
of her gun, but she didn’t care. For once she intended to forget her responsibilities—her guilt—and celebrate at her favorite hangout. It seemed right, in a way, that she and Birdie had broken the record on this day. Vic had always been proud of her, but today, for the first time, she felt worthy of his pride.

Ever since she’d started at the plant, breaking the record had always niggled at her—as if reaching that goal would somehow prove her worthy of Vic’s love. Well, now she and Birdie had pounded more rivets than Bill and George, or anyone at the plant. Or anyone anywhere. The success of breaking that record energized her. She’d forgotten how good it felt to be happy. Her cheeks hurt from smiling.

Thronging the dance floor, the ladies burst out in another verse of “Rosie the Riveter,” and Rosalie laughed. “That’s not what I had in mind when I asked for music, girls!”

The meaty aroma of grilled burgers and french fries filled the place, making her stomach growl. She wanted to dance, but she needed something to eat first. The ladies charged to the dance floor, nearly trampling the waitress and her tray of food bound for Rosalie and Birdie. In a second, the woman workers were be-bopping with the GIs who’d found their way into the place. Rosalie hung back, diving in to the hamburger and fries, voracious, while trying not to look like it. Birdie’s food sat there, getting cold, but Rosalie knew Birdie was having too much fun to care.

Rosalie’s heart lightened once again as the delicious food hit her stomach. She hadn’t realized until now how much energy the high-speed riveting had taken from her.

When she finished, she considered skedaddling to catch the next bus, but then she thought of what waited for her at home. An empty apartment. More memories of Vic. Birdie and Clara caught her eye as they danced a fast jig together. Laughter bubbled from Rosalie’s lips.

Maybe she could stick around a
little
longer.

Iris, the auto parts delivery girl, entered the restaurant and looked around in wide-eyed surprise. Clara rushed over to her, no doubt filling Iris in on the cause of the celebration.

Without hesitation, Iris traipsed to the bass player and whispered something in his ear. Rosalie’s smile wobbled. It was the second time she’d seen Nick that day. Her cheeks warmed as she remembered how foolish she’d felt earlier in Victory Square. She just hoped Nick wouldn’t bring it up.

Flashing the bass player two thumbs-up, Iris rushed back to the group, and the band swung into a jazzy rendition of “Rosie the Riveter.” Rosalie wondered where the vocalist was and then noticed Nora, sitting at a table sipping a hot drink. Nora’s free hand cupped her throat.
Poor gal must’ve lost her voice
. They didn’t need her voice for this song, though. The gals ramped up the volume. Though the sun was finally setting outside, her heart felt warm and light.

Birdie’s face was red from dancing when she hurried to the table. “We did it,” Birdie squeaked again over the music, as if freshly realizing their feat. “I can’t believe it!”

She grasped Rosalie by both hands, pulling her to her feet and toward the dance floor. They found an open spot, and Birdie swung in a circle. Rosalie had no choice but to follow. Soon the upbeat jazz filled her with its rhythm.

Iris bopped over to them, her arm draped across the shoulders of a girl Rosalie didn’t know.

“This is Lanie!” Iris’s voice lifted above the music.

Lanie, whose golden hair flowed over her shoulders, smiled. “Nice to make yer acquaintance,” she drawled with Southern sweetness.

“Lanie Thomas is my new roommate.” Iris’s tough-as-steel body swayed as the band launched into a Benny Goodman tune. “She starts at the plant tomorrow with you gals.”

Rosalie shook the girl’s slender hand. “You nervous?”

“What?” Lanie leaned in, cupping her hand around her ear.

Rosalie came closer. “I asked, are you nervous?”

“Oh yes, I sure am.” Lanie grasped Rosalie’s hand. “I’m so amazed that you broke that record. I’ll be plumb happy to squeeze one little rivet into the right spot.”

“You’ll do fine, hon.” Birdie grabbed Rosalie’s other hand, flinging Rosalie into an Around the Pole, pulling her away from Lanie’s grasp.

Swinging back around to Lanie, Rosalie remembered how nervous she’d been before her first day. “You’ll do great; don’t you worry. By the time you’re done with training, you’ll be yearning to plug in those rivets.”

Disbelief garnished Lanie’s eyes, but Rosalie knew it was true. Women came to the plant from all different worlds—timid young gals, like Lanie, to middle-aged housewives. And, somehow, stepping out of their skirts and into work slacks released strong, bold, dedicated women. Women who were like a secret weapon, ready to jump into action when needed. Women who’d produced over one hundred B-17s in the last year alone—enough to give the Allies an edge.

The song, “Kiss the Boys Goodbye,” wound down with a zipping trumpet solo, and then Nick limped to the mic. Rosalie couldn’t imagine anyone pulling off a limp with more style—even dreamy Frank Sinatra.

“I hear history’s been made today!” Nick announced. The crowd roared their cheers. “Will the two ladies who broke the record come on up?”

For the second time that day, Rosalie found herself onstage. She surveyed the beaming faces of her friends. As much as she hated the spotlight, the thrill of the day’s victory trumped her reluctance. Birdie grabbed Rosalie’s hand and lifted it up as if she were a boxer who’d won the title. The crowd cheered as Nick wrapped his arms around their shoulders and leaned into the microphone.

“So tell me, ladies, what exactly did you accomplish today?”

“They broke the national record!” Iris’s strong voice bellowed from somewhere in the audience.

Rosalie scanned the room for her, but instead her gaze tripped on a familiar face. A man’s face.
That reporter—Kenny.
He was talking to the oh-so-cute Lanie but seemed distracted. His eyes darted past the new girl toward the stage. The way he looked at her made her stomach flip. His focus seemed stronger than it had been this morning—more caring too. His smile was becoming. But instead of making her eager to talk to him, the emotions stirring within made her want to escape.

Without warning, the reporter’s eyes locked with Rosalie’s. And then he winked. Rosalie placed a hand over her stomach, surprised by the unexpected butterflies. He totally unnerved her—for the second time that day.