These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance by Mary Jane Hathaway Page B

it.”
    Fyodor Dostoyevsky
     
     
     
     
                “There
you are!” The voice took a minute to penetrate Henry’s thoughts. She turned,
dread making her limbs heavy.
                Kimberly
Gray was trotting towards her, long dark hair flying behind her, one slim arm
raised far over her head in greeting. It took a pro to walk in three inch
stilettos but somehow Kimberly managed a mincing jog, her skin tight red dress
hobbling her stride. Henry glanced around, grateful the street was almost deserted.
                “How
did you find me?” she asked.
                Kimberly
came to a stop in front of her and adjusted the chain of her purse over her
shoulder. “Well, that’s a real fine greeting. I expect more from my niece.”
                Lie.
                “I’m
sorry,” Henry said and leaned forward, letting herself be hugged and kissed.
She could feel Kimberly’s lipstick on her cheek and resisted the urge to wipe
it away. She felt dowdy in her old jeans and T-shirt but she pushed the feeling
aside. She wasn’t going to wear a nice dress to work in a cobwebby basement.
                “That
sweet old man in the bookstore told me you were headed to the Finnamore place.”
She looked around. “He said you were meeting someone.”
                Henry
felt panic rise in her throat. “Actually, I’m going to sort some old papers.
It’s really not interesting. Can we meet up for dinner later? We can try that
new Thai restaurant on LaRose street or we can go to The Red Hen.”
                Kimberly
brushed her hair back over her shoulder and beamed. “I’ll come with you. I love
old papers.”
                Lie.
                “Really?”
                “Oh,
honey, it’s so boring back at your mamere ’s. Every time I visit, she
invites her bridge group and the St. Augustine’s Women’s Auxiliary and I can’t
turn around without having to sign an autograph. Ellie Costa keeps hinting at
an invitation to my Malibu beach house and Lana Rae Jepperson wants me to get
her daughter into movies, as if I can make directors hire anybody I choose.
Everybody wants something from me.”
                Henry
bit back several responses. “I’m sure it’s difficult to be so famous.”
                “It
really is. You’re so lucky that you were raised by Lisette in a little sleepy
town, away from Hollywood types. You had the best childhood anybody could ask
for.”
                Memories
of Lisette washed over Henry, memories of her tight expression when Henry was
sick, of her sharp tongue when Henry had trouble in third grade math, of her
undisguised anger when another relationship failed because the man wasn’t ready
to take on the responsibility of someone else’s child.
                Henry
looked at her watch. “I have to go. I’ll be back in―” The rest of her
sentence faltered as she saw Gideon walk around the corner. He raised a hand in
greeting, his expression sliding from friendly to guarded to curious.
                “What
have we here?” Kimberly asked, smoothing her dress over her hips. Henry could
hear the appreciation in her voice. She could never resist a handsome man, and
what Kimberly wanted, Kimberly got.
                Gideon
stopped in front of them, looking from Kimberly to Henry and back. 
                “Is
this your friend?” Kimberly asked.
                “I―
no,” Henry blurted.
                Gideon
raised an eyebrow at her.
                She
sighed. “Kimberly, this is Gideon Becket.” She assumed she didn’t need to
finish the introduction. Everyone in the country knew the woman by sight.
                Kimberly
held out a hand and beamed. “So nice to meet you,” she gushed. “I think I’ve
only met one of Henry’s friends before.