The Dark Side Of The Rain

By Christy M. Jones

The highly anticipated sequel to The Stranger In The Rain.

Camilla and Matthew's story continues as their son begins his own quest to find love.

Zachary Cambridge has almost everything he could ever want. He has a loving family, he's wealthy, and he has inherited the same dark looks and legendary green eyes of his father. However, there is one thing his father has that Zachary doesn't - a great love.

Zachary's search for love will take him on a journey that will be as rocky as the road his parent's were on. Old wounds will be reopened, and nothing will be as it seems. The past and the present will collide, ultimately leading to a showdown between the light and the dark.

Before everything is over, Zachary will finally know the dark side of the rain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christy M. Jones
• Release date: Mar 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524271862

Christy M. Jones

My name is Christy M. Jones, and I live in New Madrid, Missouri. I have been married for thirty-seven years to my husband, Eddie. When I retired in March, 2015, I decided to follow my dream of writing a novel. This journey has been a learning experience but in a wonderful way. I love making up stories, and I feel my first novel "The Stranger In The Rain" is one of my greatest personal accomplishments. I would love to hear your thoughts. My email address is [e-mail]. Thank you for your support in my endeavor to enter this wonderful world of books!

Book preview

Prologue

Judy Cambridge stood on the tips of her toes as arthritic fingers moved back and forth across a shelf, resembling little crab legs racing over the wet sand. When her fingertips touched the smooth leather, a smile spread across wrinkled cheeks. She pulled the scrapbook forward and rocked back on her heels, pursing thin lips to blow the dust off the cover. With her treasure held close, she slid bare feet into a pair of slippers and turned off the closet light. The hem of her velvet robe flapped as she strode through the bedroom toward the kitchen and out to a sunporch bathed in morning sunshine. Fuzzy slippers scooted across the cement floor on the way to a favorite wicker chair, and with a small huff, she settled onto the thick cushioned seat. Loving hands moved over the familiar leather cover of a book that held a lifetime of captured moments. A longing to take a stroll down memory lane and reminiscing of the past was happening more often. People say that happens before death. She shook her head. I’m not ready for that yet.

Easing the cover back, she opened to the first page, her heart compressing at the sight of a young couple in a black-and-white photo. William and Judy - Our wedding day - July 28, 1956. Fingertips traced her husband’s face. I miss you so much.

The next page showed a newborn picture of Parker, dimples peeking out from two fat cheeks. Judy told everyone he was already smiling for the camera, but they scoffed at her statement. Babies don’t smile that early. It’s just gas. Judy knew better. Even at birth, Parker was ready to charm the world.

Next to his picture was a yellowed newspaper clipping announcing his birth on May 13th, 1958. The St. Louis Post-Dispatch had covered Cambridge family events for years, and she loved the headline the Post chose for this one – Cambridge Financial Dynasty Has a New Prince.

The following pages held pictures of Parker as he grew. One photo showed him playing in the sand at their vacation home at Martha’s Vineyard. He was on his knees as he built a sandcastle, his tanned face raised to the camera as if to say, cheese. Those beach days ranked toward the top of her favorite memories.

Blinking back tears, she turned another page, finding a picture of Parker and Camilla on that same beach. Underneath, Judy had written, September 25th, 1987 – Parker and Camilla’s wedding day. The camera captured the best of both of them - Parker’s irresistible dimples were on full display as he smiled into his wife’s big blue eyes, her long blonde hair blowing behind her from the ocean breeze. Judy thanked God every day for sending Camilla into their lives. When she thought of the alternative, she cringed. I’m so glad Parker saw what we couldn’t...and didn’t.

Next, she found a picture of Parker holding his newborn son, Zachary. The article this time was less dramatic, Parker and Camilla Cambridge announced the birth of a son, Zachary Connor Cambridge, on February 13th, 1991. This is their first child and future heir of Cambridge Financial Bank. Judy studied the picture, seeing the pride in Parker’s eyes as he stared at his child. After Camilla suffered two miscarriages, she despaired of ever being a grandmother and then came Zachary. The lengths Camilla went through to bring you to us may have been unconventional, but I’m glad she did it. You are my most precious grandson.

The next several pages were pictures of Zachary at various stages of his life. Judy recognized her bias, but she had determined long ago there wasn’t any child more handsome than her grandson. She beamed with pride as she went through each picture, laughing at most, and crying at a few. Then she stopped, her hands trembling. After years of looking at this scrapbook, she knew what was on the other side. She took a deep breath and turned the page, finding two obituaries - William Cambridge died of a heart attack on November 10th, 1995; Parker Cambridge died in a plane crash on October 5th, 1996.

No mother should ever have to bury a child. She wept for her two lost loves. We will be together again someday.

Drying her tears, she traveled on, finding the last newspaper article saved before storing the scrapbook away on the shelf. August 2nd, 1997 - For the first time in one hundred years, Cambridge Financial Bank does not have a male heir at the helm. Judy Cambridge has left the city to live a quiet life on a ranch south of St. Louis, where her ex-daughter-in-law, Camilla, her grandson, Zachary, and Camilla’s new husband, Matthew Stone, live. A board of directors now oversees the bank’s operations.

One of the best decisions of my life. I love this family.

She flipped to the next blank page and reached into her robe pocket, pulling out a glue stick and a newspaper clipping cut out of today’s Post-Dispatch. May 15th, 2015 – Zachary Cambridge, heir to Cambridge Financial Bank, is allegedly getting married next week in a small ceremony with only a few friends and family in attendance. Since leaving St. Louis seventeen years ago, the Cambridge family has chosen a life free of the spotlight so little is known of the circumstances of this wedding. We are still awaiting an official statement from the family.

I have dreamed of this moment since your birth. You are making me a very proud grandmother.

Covering a small space with glue, she pressed the article against the sticky substance and smoothed out the wrinkles, reading the words one more time. Satisfied, she leaned back and stared out at the grass, wet with morning dew.

Soon, all our lives will change.

Next week, the Cambridge dynasty would have a new princess.

§

May 22, 2015

Zachary Cambridge looked around the small church as he waited for his bride. Glancing at the front pew, he saw his mother, father, sisters, and grandmother staring at him with pride. He ran anxious fingers through dark hair and fixed stormy green eyes on the double doors at the back of the chapel.

What in the fuck is taking so long?

He glanced at his best man, noticing his nervousness.

What’s wrong with him? He isn’t the one getting married.

Green eyes traveled upward to the balcony which housed the church organ and an enthusiastic woman, who reminded Zachary of Robin Williams as Mrs. Doubtfire. Hands resembling two Chinese backscratchers were poised over the keys, waiting for the signal. Zachary shifted from foot to foot as a muscle worked under the dark stubble on his jaw, the only sign of his growing apprehension at the slow pace of this ceremony. He stared at the black tux and shiny shoes forced upon him, wishing he had on jeans and his scuffed cowboy boots. I don’t care who gets pissed. Once this wedding is over, so is this suit.

Focused on his clothing, Zachary didn’t see the preacher nod to the organ player. When the music blared out, he jumped as if he’d been shot. He looked up at Mrs. Doubtfire, watching her hands move over the keys as she rocked back and forth on a wooden bench seat. Zachary decided she must be one of those musicians who thought the louder the music, the more accomplished she appeared to the masses.

The double doors opened, and he saw her. He straightened his tall frame and waited, sweat breaking out on his forehead. Her measured pace was bringing her closer, and his thoughts felt connected to each carpeted footfall.

Step.

She’s gorgeous.

Step.

We’re going to have a good life.

Step.

Wait a minute.

Step.

This is wrong.

Step.

I can’t do this.

Step.

My heart belongs to someone else.

Step.

I’m marrying the wrong one.

Step.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

Final step.

His heart thumped so fast, it was difficult to distinguish when one beat stopped and the other started. There was only one long hum, drowning out everything around him. Scared eyes moved out to the expectant stares of the small crowd, who were waiting for the words, I now pronounce you man and wife, so they could vacate their pew and rush to the open bar at the reception. He felt cool, delicate hands slip into his and trying to concentrate, he gripped her hands harder than necessary. With closed eyes he heard the preacher’s voice, and the words sounded far away.

Dearly beloved...

His shoulders slumped, realizing those words had the same power as a cell door clanging shut. He thought of the only woman he would ever love and wondered what she was doing on this day that should have been theirs.

Do you miss me as much as I miss you?

I hope you’re doing okay.

I’m sorry I fucked things up between us.

I promise, I will never forget you.

I’m moving on to a new life. I hope you can do the same.

And one more thing.

Please...forgive me.

Chapter One

Jackson Hole, Wyoming, 1992

The woman was in a hospital bed, staring at her newborn daughter’s wrinkled face and fuzzy head. What in heaven’s name am I going to do with you? Pregnancy was never part of her plan. She tried to recall the time of conception, attempting to determine the name of the father. That was an active week. Let’s see, I went out with John, Justin, and, um, oh yes, Clint. One of these men had released a sperm so determined, even a condom didn’t stop it. She let out an angry breath, wondering why the miracle of birth rested solely on the shoulders of women. She knew if roles were reversed and the man carried the baby, the world’s growing population would be cut in half.

Condemning men to a sentence of being boiled alive, the nurse came into the room, interrupting her thoughts. It’s time to return to the nursery.

The nurse plucked the baby from her arms and left the room. She watched them go, wondering why she didn’t feel a sense of loss. Instead, she looked forward to being alone, hoping to rest before the newborn returned to her empty arms, and she had to pretend to bond with her.

She was asleep before the baby made it back to the nursery.

The next morning as she ate breakfast, the nurse came back with the swaddled infant. I can’t even eat in peace. She scarfed down her food using one hand and held the baby with the other as expected of any good mother.

Only, she wasn’t a good mother.

In fact, she had no intention of being any kind of mother if she could keep from it.

The doctor came in and gave them a clean bill of health, signing off on their release. The nurse wheeled her to the hospital entrance, but no one was waiting. Her family was clueless to her whereabouts. She asked the nurse to call a taxi, and within thirty minutes, a cab was driving her to the cabin she had called home for the last six months. She didn’t have a car seat so she held the baby in her arms, telling the driver his future included a handsome tip if he kept his mouth shut.

The baby slept the entire trip, and she sent up a silent prayer of thanks. Before long, the cab drove under an arched iron sign showing Blue Sky Ranch. The driver stopped the vehicle and ran around to her door, helping her out. Carrying her suitcase up to the porch, he tipped his hat at her, excited when she slipped him a hundred dollar bill. He scurried back to his cab and drove away.

Unlocking the door to the log house, she walked inside and carried the newborn to her bedroom. She laid the sleeping baby in the middle of the king bed, wondering what mothers did after bringing their baby home for the first time. She smiled.

I know how to celebrate this moment.

A few minutes later, she was sitting on the couch, sipping a glass of wine. For the last six months, she abstained from drinking. She couldn’t think of a better way to commemorate her baby’s homecoming.

Two glasses of wine later, her body was finally relaxed, and she pondered her future. Uncertain of most aspects of her life, she was positive about one of them.

Her future did not include a baby.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone driving up to the cabin. She peeked out the window seeing Joe, the caretaker of the ranch, putting wood under the lean-to. I need to write out a grocery list for tomorrow. Joe showed up daily, checking the ranch and bringing supplies. Their only communication was a note taped to the front door. The less others knew of her dilemma, the easier her life would be.

The wine and ordeal of giving birth caught up to her, and she felt drowsy. She had just closed her weary eyes, when the baby began to wail. Shit. I guess it’s time for a feeding. The hospital had provided a case of pre-mixed formula so she grabbed a small bottle, pushing the nipple into the baby’s mouth. Listening to the hungry, sucking noises, she tried to tap into her feelings, hoping for something to give this small creature, but her emotional wellspring had run dry.

After a long night of multiple feedings, diaper changes, and listening to the baby cry, she woke the next morning, thinking hell must be better than this.

She had to do something...and soon.

From out of nowhere, an idea popped into her mind. It was one of those moments where she wondered if a lightbulb hovered over her head.

At last! A light at the end of this long, long tunnel.

§

Joe and Peggy Simpson moved to Wyoming when they married twenty-seven years ago. As a couple, they couldn’t have been more different. Joe had a tall and lanky build, while Peggy leaned toward the short and plump side; but in Joe’s eyes, Peggy had the looks of Raquel Welch, and to Peggy, Joe resembled her Hollywood idol, Charlton Heston. They had a deep and abiding love for each other, and when Joe said he wanted to buy a ranch, Peggy told him she was ready to follow him anywhere.

Joe’s search for the perfect place led him to Wyoming, and when he found his five acre paradise, he jumped on it. He had hoped for a larger property, but it’s hard to have big dreams with small pockets.

Once Joe moved his bride into the small house, he realized his new adventure didn’t offer enough income to make even a moderate living. He kept his eyes and ears open, hoping for something to supplement their meager finances. When one of his new friends mentioned an overseer position, Joe contacted the owner and was immediately hired as the caretaker for Blue Sky Ranch. His new job wasn’t difficult. Blue Sky’s remote location was more conducive to a vacation home, not a working property.

Not long after that, Blue Sky sold, but to Joe’s delight, the new owners kept him as their overseer. A few years later, ownership changed again, and his luck stayed with him, but this sale was different. Instead of meeting his new employer, any communication went through the owner’s lawyer. That didn’t bother Joe. As long as he kept his job, he didn’t care if the devil himself owned the ranch.

Although Joe and Peggy had received many blessings in their life, one dream had escaped them – conceiving a child. Peggy knew they would have been wonderful parents, but God had other plans for them, and who were they to argue with Him?

After years of trying, Joe and Peggy finally realized it was never going to happen and eventually learned to accept their childless existence.

Peggy was in the kitchen, mixing up homemade bread, when Joe came in, bringing a rush of frigid air with him. He removed his coat and walked over to the sink to wash his hands. She stopped kneading the dough. Did you deliver the groceries?

Yeah, but she refused to come to the door again. I thought I heard crying. I knocked, but she never answered.

Since the woman came to Blue Sky six months ago, Joe had kept her stocked with supplies. She always left a note at the front door, listing what she needed. Joe purchased everything on the handwritten list and left the bags on the porch as instructed. When he returned the next day, the items were gone, and there was a new list.

Soon after the woman arrived at the ranch, Peggy brought her a pie as a welcome. The woman opened the door, accepted the pie, and shut the door in Peggy’s face. Since then, she refused to acknowledge them.

Peggy said, I wonder how much longer she’ll be here?

I’m surprised she’s still here. I hope everything is okay with her. This whole arrangement is strange. No one should be alone for that long.

Peggy smiled, hearing the concern in her husband’s voice. I’m sure if she was having problems, she would have told you when you knocked. I fixed soup for lunch. Let’s enjoy a bowl and try to forget Blue Sky Ranch.

He nodded and sat at the small kitchen table, reaching for his spoon.

After an enjoyable lunch, Joe headed for the back door, reaching for his coat. I need to buy feed for the cows. Is there anything you need from town?

Peggy shook her head and began to clear the table. She was washing dishes when she heard the doorbell ring. Wiping her soapy hands on a towel, she headed for the door. Visitors were rare in these parts so curiosity made her walk faster. She looked out the window, seeing a Blue Sky truck. She opened the door and what she found left her dumbstruck. A gaunt woman, wearing the haggard look of someone who just returned from the front line, stood before her, holding a wicker laundry basket. Peggy peered inside, surprised to see a small wrinkled face, surrounded by a blanket.

It took a moment for Peggy to remember her manners. She opened the door wider, sending a silent invitation it was okay to enter. When the woman stepped over the threshold into the warm and cozy home, she broke into tears. Peggy embraced her, curious to the cause of her misery. Feeling Peggy’s loving arms eased the woman’s hysteria, and she could imagine those same arms holding her daughter, comforting her when she cried. I need to talk to you. Actually, I need to ask you a favor.

Come with me, and I will fix you a glass of tea.

She followed Peggy, the smell of homemade bread assaulting her as she entered the comfy kitchen. Slumping down onto a vinyl covered metal chair, she set the wicker basket on the floor beside her. Peggy reached into the cabinet for a glass, filling it with ice and a generous serving of sweet tea. She handed the glass to the woman, who took it from her with trembling hands. Peggy sat across from her and asked, How can I help you?

The woman’s crying made her difficult to understand. I...I have had this baby, and I don’t know...I can’t figure out what to do with it.

The crescendo of her crying increased which prompted the newborn to let out an earsplitting scream. Peggy reached into the basket and picked up the baby, crooning to her, which quieted her cries. The baby’s mother watched Peggy, her sobs easing as quickly as her baby’s. She placed her hand on Peggy’s arm, her eyes pleading. Would you take her and raise her? She can’t come home with me. No one even knows I was pregnant. Please, help me!

Peggy looked into the new mother’s anguished eyes. God has finally answered my prayers. Why do you want to give up this beautiful baby? You may just need time to adjust to being a mother.

You don’t understand. I have no desire to be a mother. This baby was a mistake. I don’t even know who the father is. If you want her, she’s yours. I won’t come back for her. I promise.

The woman could sense Peggy’s hesitation. In desperation, she added, I will send you money every month for her needs.

Peggy stared at her. You mean hush money. I will need to talk to Joe about it.

The baby’s mother was thinking how much life she had missed while she waited for this baby’s birth. She was ready to go home. This plan had to work. Failure was not an option. You must convince him. Please, promise me you will.

Peggy looked at the sleeping baby’s sweet face, knowing deep inside Joe wouldn’t say no. He never refused to do what she asked of him. She patted the fretful woman’s shoulder. Don’t cry. I’m sure Joe will be fine with us raising your baby. Does she have a name?

Not yet. The hospital said as soon as I named her, they will get the paperwork started. If you agree to take her, you should pick her name.

Peggy gave her a reassuring smile. When Joe gets home, we will figure out something.

Thank you. Thank you. You have saved my life. She reached into the wicker basket. Here are her bottles. If it’s okay, I need to leave. I’m exhausted from being up all night. I will call you tomorrow, and we can discuss this further.

Before Peggy could say anything else, the woman left as quickly as she arrived. Walking into the living room with the baby cradled in her arms, Peggy sat on the couch and laid the newborn on the worn, tweed cushion. With gentle hands, she unwrapped the blanket and a long, dormant maternal instinct blossomed inside her. She counted each tiny finger and toe, running her hands over the baby’s silky head and small round face. With each touch, Peggy fell more in love with this precious gift she received. It didn’t matter what Joe or anyone said.

This baby belonged to her now.

For the rest of the afternoon, Peggy held the small bundle next to her bosom, afraid if she let go, the baby would disappear. I will never let anyone take you away from me.

A few hours later, Joe arrived home and walked in the back door, yelling out Peggy’s name.

I’m in the living room.

He hung up his coat and walked over to the refrigerator, grabbing a cold can of soda before making his way toward Peggy’s voice. He popped the top and raised the can to his lips, when his hand froze in midair.

His wife was holding a baby as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He walked closer, peering at the small bundle. Whose baby is this?

Peggy looked at him with hopeful eyes. Ours.

Joe looked at her in disbelief. What do you mean, ours?

As Peggy explained to him what happened, Joe decided his wife had never looked more beautiful. Motherhood was already changing her, much like what Leonardo Da Vinci did for the women of Florence, transforming plain females into serene, ethereal beauties. Peggy had that look now, and Joe loved it. For years they prayed for a baby, and in the expanse of one trip to town, he came home to find his wife holding a small infant. The Lord certainly works in mysterious ways. I can’t believe this is happening to us after all this time.

Now that we have this beautiful baby, I need to know what you think about all of this.

The tranquility radiating from her face was the only validation he needed for the decision he already made. With twinkling brown eyes, he said, I guess we’re going to be parents.

With a beaming smile, Peggy placed the baby in his arms. Joe stared at his new daughter, feeling an immediate connection to her. What’s her name?

She’s still waiting for one.

Their minds whirled with possible names. With a wistful look, Joe said, Could we name her after my mother?

Rennie?

Joe nodded, his eyes shining.

Peggy rolled the name around in her mind. Let’s name her Rennie Claire Simpson. Rennie for your mother, and Claire for mine.

Joe looked at his wife’s glowing face. It’s the prettiest name I’ve ever heard.

The rest of the night they bonded with their new baby. Each hour that passed found Joe and Peggy falling more and more in love with this priceless bundle.

The next morning, the phone rang, and Peggy answered it, hearing Rennie’s mother on the other end. Hi, Peggy, it’s me. Did you talk to Joe? Did he agree with my plan?

We discussed your problem, and we can’t wait for the chance to raise this sweet child.

For a moment, the woman was speechless. Since she found out she was pregnant, she worried what would happen after she gave birth, and like a gift from heaven, Joe and Peggy Simpson came into her life. Did you come up with a name?

In a proud voice, Peggy said, Rennie Claire Simpson.

Rennie! What kind of name is that?! Oh well, it’s not my problem any longer. I think it’s perfect. If Joe can pick me up, we will go to the hospital and fill out the form for the birth certificate.

Barely able to contain her excitement, Peggy said, He can be there in an hour.

The woman hung up, feeling happier than she had in a long time.

While Peggy waited at home with the baby, Joe drove the woman to the hospital to complete the paperwork for the baby’s name. This wasn’t an official adoption so Joe and Peggy’s names were not listed on the form. The woman was still considered Rennie’s mother, and the section for the father had one word – unknown.

After that was done, the woman asked Joe to drive her to a lawyer’s office she found in the yellow pages. When she came out of his office, she held notarized documents allowing Joe and Peggy Simpson to make every medical and educational decision for the baby.

On the drive back to the ranch, her lips curved into a smile. The dark cloud hanging over her had dissipated. The sun shone above her, and for the first time, she noticed the tranquil scenery around her. She didn’t appreciate it before, but now she did. The sky was so blue, and the fresh air filled her lungs, renewing her like a baptism. She couldn’t wait to resume her life again.

They arrived back at the Simpson place and she followed Joe inside, making arrangements to provide money on a monthly basis. Joe and Peggy accepted the offer, but they didn’t care if they ever saw a dime. They were parents, and no