Read Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington for Free Online Page A

squeal blasted as she approached the locker room door. “Rosalie! There you are.” Birdie raced to the open door and grabbed her arm. “Where’ve you been?”
    Before Rosalie could answer, booted footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned to find her boss striding up to them. His chin was tucked against his chest, making his forehead seem abnormally large.
    “Bullhorn” Hawkins’ eyes peered into Rosalie’s face. “You’re late.” His voice was low, scratchy, firm. Bullhorn’s vocal cords had been damaged in the Great War, or so the rumor went. He never yelled, but Rosalie had heard that when he was younger, his voice boomed so forcefully that other commanders used him to shout to their troops when their own voices faded. Now he spoke low, yet the officer’s authority had remained. So had the nickname.
    Rosalie had never been late before—not even one minute. Her molars clenched together, and her eyes focused on Bullhorn’s shined boots. She wanted to apologize but knew better than to speak. Birdie stood beside her, silent. Rosalie finally dared to look into his face.
    “You know how tight the schedule is?” Bullhorn’s eyes narrowed.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Even if you’re late on the floor, you still have to rivet the normal quota. And if you stay longer, there’s no overtime pay—for you or your partner.” He pointed to Birdie, and the side of his lip lifted in a snarl. “Understand?”
    Rosalie closed her eyes, queasiness sprouting in her gut. “Yes, sir.”
    “Don’t let it happen again.” Bullhorn swiveled, then his boots clanged up the scaffolding, where he could watch everything from a bird’s-eye view.
    Rosalie cocked her head toward Birdie. “I’m so sorry.”
    The shift whistle split the air.
    “It’s all right, sweetie.” Birdie patted her arm. “The others are just heading out. Throw your things in the locker, and we’ll join them.” Birdie grinned, and Rosalie gave her a hug, grateful for her understanding friend.
    “I was worried about you,” Birdie said as they hurried into the locker room. “What happened?”
    The last hour’s events roiled through Rosalie’s mind like a Bendix automatic washer, and she puffed out a breath. Where to begin?
    They hurried into the locker room, and Rosalie linked arms with her friend. “Tell you what. Come with me tonight to the Igloo, where I’ll not only tell you all about it, I’ll also buy you a malt for getting you into trouble.”
    At the sink, Rosalie grabbed the bar of white Dove soap, then splashed cold water over her calloused hands. Hurrying to her locker, she pulled Vic’s photo from her pocket and lodged it in the door’s seam.
    Another memory flashed into her mind, and her lips arced in an involuntary smile. Before he’d go home for the night, Vic would lock her windows, and she’d walk him to the door. A sweet, simple kiss, and then he’d leave, warning her to bolt the latch behind him. After he’d walk out, Vic would always pause and check. If the door was locked, he’d teasingly say, “That’s my good girl.” They called it their Good Night Safety Check.
    Rosalie let out a breath, recalling how she’d sometimes leave the door unlocked just to rile him, just to hear his mock scolding. Vic, you were so good to me. Why could I not love you?
    Rosalie grabbed her gloves and work boots, putting them on in a hurry in order to catch up with the other women who were already dressed and shuffling out to the floor. Clara, tall and lanky with dusty blond hair, was already dressed in her big, heavy welder’s suit. Rosalie wondered how she could move in such a getup.
    As Rosalie tucked her civilian clothes in the locker and slammed the door shut, Clara patted Rosalie’s shoulder. “How you doin’, honey? You look a little blue.”
    Rosalie shrugged. “I’m okay. Just a rough morning.”
    “This war can get to ya.” Clara glanced at the ceiling with a wistful look, and Rosalie knew she was thinking of her own