Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington (19 page)

“Somebody help!” Trying to stifle her panic, Rosalie focused on what to do next. The upper half of her body struggled to stay perched on the attic floor and not plunge through the ragged hole to the hard wood below. “I’m gonna fall. I’m gonna fall,” she muttered beneath her breath.

Her right hand stretched to hold onto the one plank—a supporting beam—not deteriorated by dry rot. The scratchy wood lodged splinters into her palm, and she was sure her fingers’ top layer of skin was scraped clean away. Her other arm searched for a spot to hold onto, but every possibility crumbled beneath her grasp. She pinched her lips, fighting off tears of pain and fear.

Her bottom half dangled below. With each moment, she inched closer to hurtling to the floor.

“Can you scoot your legs up?” Rosalie heard Iris’s voice call from beneath.

Afraid to move, Rosalie wanted to yell, “No!”

Instead, she took a deep breath and said a quick prayer. “I’ll try, but the wood is pretty weak.” Her hand ached as she pulled her weight against it. She swung her leg, trying to get a foot up to the attic floorboards. It connected and held.

“Thank you,” she whispered. But as she tried to put her weight on it, the floorboards flaked off, tumbling to the ground with a thud, and leaving her with even less to hold onto. Weakening, her hand slipped down the plank another half-inch.

Rosalie bit her lip to keep from crying out. She had to stay strong. She couldn’t show her weakness and fear.

She slipped again, and her resolve took a hike. “I’m gonna break a leg, and not in the showbiz way!” she called.

A frustrated laugh burst from her lips, followed by a sob as she imagined slipping and hitting the floor below. Could she work with her leg in a cast? Would they be able to finish that house, or would everyone be too afraid to continue?

“Don’t worry, sweets!” Birdie’s out-of-breath voice called. “I couldn’t find a ladder, but I found Kenny. He’s gonna bring one. And Iris just took off to find a mattress.”

“Who?”

Was it
the
Kenny? Kenny, the reporter?

That couldn’t be possible. How could he have hunted her down in Victory Heights? A headline popped in her head—R
IVETER
F
ALLS FOR
R
EPORTER
—but she pushed it out of her mind. This was no time for humor.

She’d been praying for an opportunity to apologize to the handsome reporter, but she never imagined it would be today, like this.

God, surely You could have figured out a better way.

A spider crawled over her hand, and she sucked in a breath of mildewed, dusty air. “Tell Kenny to hurry, will ya?”

“I’m here,” Kenny called.

Rosalie let out a slow breath. Never had a man’s voice stirred such relief. She heard the ladder opening, and Kenny’s footsteps scampering up the rungs.

“How are you gonna hold me and stay balanced?” Panic overtook her, and she gripped the plank as hard as she could.

“It’s all right; you have to trust me. I can hold on with my legs and lower you down. You’ll have to stand on the top of the ladder. Can you do that? Then once you have your balance, you can sit, turn, and then I’ll guide you down.”

“Wow, is that all I have to do?”

Rosalie’s heart raced. She wanted to cry, but she mustered her courage and held it in. “But what if I fall—we fall?”

“That’s what the mattress is for.”

“Mattress?”

“I sent the ladies to find one, to break your fall, just in case. But we won’t fall.”

“How do you know that?” She dared to flick her fingers to shoo the spider away. “I can’t feel the ladder. All I feel is air.”

“I’m right here.” His voice was closer.

She tried to crank her neck to get a look at him, but she couldn’t. From the sounds of his voice Kenny was right under her—she just wished she could see that fact. She felt his hands on her legs.
I am so glad I wore pants today.

“See, I told you I’m right here.”

“But I still can’t feel the ladder.” The dust tickled her nose, and she held back a sneeze.

“The ladder doesn’t quite reach.” Kenny’s voice was calm. “I need you to lower yourself down farther. Just think of it as moving from the side of the swimming pool into the water.”

“But this is not water. You can float on water. It’s just air—and a hard floor after that.”

“Just scoot a little bit, Rosalie. Your toes can almost reach.”

Even though everything in Rosalie told her to cling to the board, she scooted back a little, sliding her ribcage over the beam, lowering herself down. As she did, she felt Kenny guiding her legs. Then her toe touched something. The top of the ladder.

“Okay, let yourself down a little more,” he directed.

She did, until both feet were flat on the top of the ladder. Most of her torso hung in the air, but her hands still gripped the beam. She looked down, and she was on the top of the ladder all right, but facing the wrong way.

“Okay, take another slow step down. One more after that and you can hold the top of the ladder to help balance yourself. Then you can sit.”

“I don’t think I can—”

“You need to feel with your foot where the next step is,” he interrupted. “It’s going to feel awkward to step down like that, but remember, I’m holding you.”

Rosalie stretched and did as she was told. Soon she was standing on the second rung with the top rung at the back of her calves. Only her fingertips clung to the beam, and when she looked down, she could see Kenny’s face below. He was looking up at her, and he didn’t look mad. He looked concerned.

“Now, go ahead and let go. And then sit down on the top of the ladder. Once you’re seated I’ll help you turn around.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, Rosalie.” His grip tightened on her legs. “I’m not going to let you fall.”

“I was awful to you.” Rosalie looked down into his dreamy blue eyes. “A few days ago at The Golden Nugget. Really horrid.”

“Yes, I know.” He offered a soft smile that told her she was forgiven. “But we can talk about this later, can’t we? Why don’t we focus on the situation at hand?”

“If I let go, I’m going to lose my balance, swing backward, fall to the ground, and crack open my noggin.”

“Nope. That’s not going to happen.” Kenny’s grip tightened around her legs. “I’m holding on to you. I’ll balance you. You have to trust me.”

Did she trust him?

A few days ago she would have said no. But the more she thought about their various interactions, she realized he’d never purposefully tried to hurt her. If anything, he’d attempted to make it clear he cared. The wood dug into her fingers even deeper, and she knew if she didn’t let go she’d damage her hands more—maybe even too much to rivet.

“Okay. On the count of three,” she called. “One, two, three—”

She slowly uncurled her fingers, and her body slipped down. Rosalie gasped as she waved her hands and tried to hold her balance, but Kenny’s hands steadied her. Bending her legs, she plopped her rear on the top of the ladder, grasping its sides with her hands. Kenny took a step up, released his hold on her legs, and reached for her hands. She winced slightly as his hand embraced her wounds. Even though it hurt, she felt safe—or, at least, safer.

She dared to look around and saw her friends and neighbors circling the bottom of the ladder. The fear in their wide-open eyes faded, but only slightly.

“We’re not footloose and fancy-free yet.” Kenny glanced down, and Rosalie followed his gaze. A pile of decrepit wood, white as if with leprosy, lay in a heap along with old photographs, envelopes, and a baby doll. There was no mattress.

She clung tighter to Kenny’s hands.

“I’m sorry, Rosie,” Iris spoke up. “I couldn’t find a mattress. No one sleeps here anymore.”

Rosalie sent a silent plea to Kenny with her eyes.

He smiled with such sympathy it made Rosalie’s hands loosen their grip a tiny bit.

“Just breathe,” he offered.

Inhaling the manly cologne scent—much better than the stinky-attic aroma—Rosalie soaked in Kenny’s good looks. His smile melted her, despite her anxiety.

He rubbed the tops of her hands with his thumbs, comforting her, and she longed to fall forward into his arms and let him carry her to safety. Sizing up the ladder, she could see that plan wouldn’t work.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I’m not usually such a sissy.” Rosalie had never thought she was scared of heights, but she supposed she’d never been in this type of situation before.

“It’s okay. Just relax.” His hands held hers. “It’s easy as pie. I’m going to step down. Then you can swivel and follow me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Kenny released his grasp and stepped down but still stayed close enough to steady her if she needed it. Rosalie swiveled, then stretched her right foot and felt it connect with the next rung. She followed it with her left foot, and then did the same again. And when she made it to the bottom, finally standing flat on the floor, she turned to face him.

In his gaze there was no hint of the anger toward her that she expected.

“Kenny, I—” She had something to tell him, but then she looked around at her friends’ faces, remembering she had an audience.

Kenny lowered his head, taking a deep breath, and then looked into her eyes again.

Rosalie’s muscles, which had been wound tight as a lug nut, relaxed a notch. “Thank you,” she said simply. “You’re too nice to me.” She focused on his eyes and noticed they sparkled with sincerity—not pride.

“You’re safe.” He released the words in a breath and smiled. The smile sent tingles like butterfly kisses up her spine.

Rosalie longed for a quiet moment to relish being near him again, but instantly her friends huddled around her with hugs and words of relief. She laughed with them and joked about their new attic access point. When she looked up again, Kenny was gone.

Kenny’s gaze followed the baseball arching over his head, becoming black against the still-bright early evening sky and back down again, landing in left field—almost hitting the rusty motorcycle parked in the gravel driveway.

He’d heard from Aunt Tilly the incredible news that not only were the ladies moving into the old house, they were volunteering their time, skills, and even supplies, to get it up to code. He’d spent the afternoon ditching dry-rot-ruined framework and replacing it with the sturdy new lumber the ladies from the plant had gotten local lumberyards to donate.

But best of all had been the news about Rosalie’s relationship with God. Kenny’s heart soared, knowing the transformation that had happened inside her. Knowing her eternity was now secured in God’s kingdom.

Of course, her relationship with God only drew him more to Rosalie. That’s why he’d made a conscious effort through the day to avoid her. Helping her down from the attic, his attraction had been strong, almost painful. He couldn’t let futile thoughts of romantic dinners, long walks, and evenings of dancing muddy his thinking. If he got up the nerve to ask her about doing the articles, he’d have to stay professional.

But distracting himself with manual labor hadn’t helped. His mind kept racing back to her. So once the work was done, he decided to visit his old friends—who happened to be half his age and younger. Whenever baseball with the VanderLey brood called, he happily answered.

“Gerard, you did it again!” Kenny shouted as the ten-year-old towhead raced around first base and on toward second. “When am I ever going to strike you out?”

“Never, busterboy. Never!” Gerard’s thick Dutch accent had almost disappeared since he, his seven siblings, and his mother arrived in the United States three years ago, before Pearl Harbor. Their father didn’t make it out of the Netherlands before the Nazis forced him to join their army. Last Kenny’d heard, Mr. VanderLey had defected to France. Gerard’s little sister Britt’s blond tresses bobbed as she chased after the elusive ball.

“Another home run!” Nick yelled from the catcher’s spot. “When’re you gonna learn to pitch a strike, eh, Ken?”

“You wanna take the mound, sometime? That boy’s—” Movement from the house halted Kenny’s words, and he turned to watch.

It was Rosalie, slipping out the back door.

Seeing her, Kenny’s breath stuck in his throat like a B-17 without an engine. She smiled and tilted her head. The candle-like quality of the sun dipping in the evening sky created a golden glow on her lovely features.

“Where’ve you been all day?” she called. “It’s like you disappeared.”

Thump.
Pain shot up Kenny’s thigh from a direct hit, catching him off guard. Excited kid laughter resounded through the field.

“Hey, pitcher, keep your eyes on the ball,” Nick called.

“Ouch.” Kenny rubbed his leg and noticed Rosalie laughing too.

“I think I’m going to sit the next inning out,” Kenny called to the kids.

“Aw, Mr. Davenport, do ya hafta go make moon eyes at Miss Madison?” Danny whined, but Nick shushed him and the others who complained by hobbling to Kenny’s spot on the mound.

“How ’bout if I let you use my mitt.” Kenny handed over his mitt to his new friend Danny and ambled across the grass.

“I didn’t disappear,” he told her, responding to the question she’d asked. “I helped in the basement. After replacing some of the dry rot, we found a few pipes that needed to be welded. Your friend Clara’s a whiz with the welding torch—wouldn’t let me help. But when the kids came knocking, I finally put down my tools and headed out.” He looked back at the house. “I’m amazed by what you’ve already accomplished in a few days. It’s wonderful what you ladies are doing for Aunt Tilly.”