Running Out of Rain Read online

  Running Out Of Rain

  Prime of Love: Book One

  By Lori Leger

  Smashwords edition

  Copyright © 2015 Cajunflair Publishing

  (Lori Leger)

  ISBN:9781940305271

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, in the case of real cities, clubs, theaters, or restaurants mentioned in the story, are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author, Lori Leger, owner of Cajunflair Publishing.

  Copy Editor: Karen Sue Burns

  Note from the author:

  I’ve changed the names, but use the same locations of several cities and towns, such as Lake Charles (Lake Coburn), Kinder (Kenton), Lake Arthur (Lake Erin), and Gueydan (Gardiner) in all of my series set in Louisiana, as shown in the map I’ve included. I know and love this part of my state, therefore I’ve chosen to include the area in my stories.

  Musical Soundtrack:

  Gary Allan – Every Storm (Runs Out of Rain)

  Lee Benoit – Johnny Can’t Dance

  Lee Benoit – Lover’s Waltz

  Wayne Toups – The Back Door

  Paul Young – What Becomes of the Broken Hearted

  James Otto – Somewhere Tonight

  Chuck Wicks – Hold That Thought

  Billy Currington – Must Be Doin’ Somethin’ Right

  George Strait – Troubadour

  George Strait – I Believe

  Blake Shelton – Home

  Loretta Lynn – You Ain’t Woman Enough (To Take My Man)

  Clifton Chenier – Louisiana Two Step, Oh My My

  Wayne Toups – Take My Hand

  Wayne Toups – Two Step Mamou

  Jo-El Sonnier – No More One Time

  Jo-El Sonnier – Step it Fast

  Dedication

  To all women out there over the age of fifty, whether you’ve found love, are still looking for it, or are comfortable enough in your own skin not to need anyone else around. If your purse “essentials” have altered from lip gloss, mascara, and eye-liner to panty-liners, tooth floss, and bi-focals—this book is for you. It’s a reminder that just because there’s a little silver in the hair, doesn’t mean the pump isn’t primed for passion.

  Also to anyone who’s had to deal with the heartbreak that is called Alzheimer’s disease, whether it’s yourself or a loved one …

  bless you all.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Glossary of Cajun Terminology

  Map

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Recommended Reading

  Acknowledgments

  Other Work by Author

  About the Author

  Glossary of Cajun Terminology

  Putain – Bitch, Prostitute (Poo-tan)

  Envie – urge, need, to want something (Awn-vee)

  C’est bon – It’s good (Say-bawn)

  Ca c’est bon – Used as a stated fact: It is good! (Sah say-bawn!) OR in question form: Was it good? (Sah say-bawn?)

  C’est toute la meme chose – It’s all the same thing (Say too la mam shawz)

  Ma petite fille – My little girl (Ma p’teet fee)

  Mon coeur – My heart (Mawn kur)

  Mon vieux – My old friend (Mawn vyuh)

  Chienne – A female dog (Shee-yan) said quickly (Shyan)

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  MAP

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  EPILOGUE

  OTHER WORK BY AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  November 15th

  Tonka City, Oklahoma

  Everyone expected Cynthia to be strong. To deal out comfort to her three grown children like face cards in a stacked deck. Yes, they’d lost their father, but she’d lost so much more. So, how the hell could she comfort others when she was dying inside?

  This was the ultimate deal breaker. She and Gene were supposed to grow old and senile together, happy and in love. Yet, here she was, barely fifty-two years old, widowed, and about to say one last goodbye to the man she’d married over three decades ago. Whether or not she’d be an angry, bitter widow was still up for debate.

  Members of the “brotherhood” of firefighters from departments throughout the state of Oklahoma were in attendance—all co-workers, connections, or acquaintances from her husband’s thirty years as a firefighter. They’d come to pay homage to the “chief”, given testimonials as to what a good man, co-worker, brother he was.

  An impressive display of uniformed men and women lined the perimeter of the room. The fire engine waited outside, polished to a shine, ready to take Chief Ellender to his final resting place.

  After a few last words from the minister, everyone filed slowly from the room. Dr. Cynthia Ellender approached the open coffin with her two sons, her daughter, and son-in-law—all still in shock from the recent revelation. The scandal her husband had bequeathed to his family, one that would likely rock this town for years to come, still raw and fresh in their minds.

  Poor Trini, shamelessly spoiled by her father, broke down in dramatic fashion, as always, relishing the chance to be the center of attention. One look from Cynthia had her daughter’s husband and brothers leading the twenty-five year old from the room to wait outside.

  Finally, she alone remained. The funeral director stood at the door, along with six uniformed pall bearers chosen to transport their chief to the engine—none of whom dared to meet her gaze.

  She released a long, slow breath and faced her husband one last time. She stared at the man whose bed, whose very life she’d shared—the man she thought she’d known everything about. They’d kept their secrets, but never from each other—or so she’d believed.

  She reached inside the coffin, ran her hand over the broad chest, smoothed down the single row of brass buttons over his class “A” jacket uniform. Her fingers made a feather light pass over his badge, the various cords and patches. One last time she touched the five bugle pin adorning his collar, the five corresponding stripes on his sleeve, the white gloved hand arranged so carefully over his cap.

  Cynthia leaned close to the handsome face, the sexy mouth she’d kissed thousands of times. In a voice wracked with a mixture of bitterness, shame, and fury, she whispered the very last words s
he would ever speak to her husband.

  “You son of a bitch. How dare you?”

  May 31st

  18 months later

  Lake Coburn, Louisiana

  John Michael Ferguson stepped out of his F-250 pickup onto the hospital parking lot, his heart pounding with excitement. He’d had to wait too damn long before becoming a grandfather but dang if Cat and Zachary weren’t popping them out two at a time. After a complicated pregnancy, they’d come a month early and Cat had nearly paid the price. She’d severely hemorrhaged during the emergency C-section, but had fought her way back. And now he was the proud grandpa of fraternal twins, a girl and a boy.

  He took several steps toward the hospital entrance and stopped to stare back at his truck. “Come on, Pop. What the hell you doing back there? We’ve got some babies to hold.”

  His seventy-seven year old father stepped gingerly from the truck and growled his reply. “Look, we didn’t all spring from the valley of the jolly green giants, you know. If I fall out of this too-tall-truck of yours onto the pavement, you’ll be the one changing my damn diapers after I break something.” He slammed the door, continuing his grumble fest. “It’s bad enough you almost killed me coming over here, driving too fast. Now you want me to make a mad dash across the parking lot to get to something that ain’t going anywhere. They’re newborns—it’s not like they can walk out by themselves.” He shook his head. “Kids today got no damn patience.”

  John couldn’t help but grin over his dad, John David “J.D.” Ferguson, calling him a kid, at fifty-three years old. “Watch your step, Pop. There’s a curb.” He pointed to the sidewalk in front of his father.

  “I see it. I’m not blind.”

  John removed his good straw Stetson and passed a hand through his thick hair. “That’s not what the people at the DMV say.” His low-spoken reply somehow carried to a man who had to have the TV blaring in order to hear.

  “I can see plenty good enough to drive. Those assholes at the DMV don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. Communists—the whole damn bunch of them.”

  “I know. It’s a conspiracy to keep everyone with common sense from driving their own vehicle. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with those cataracts clouding your vision.”

  “I don’t have cataracts.”

  John sighed. “I know, and you don’t have an enlarged prostate, either. It’s perfectly natural to go to the head every ten minutes. May as well put the damn diaper on you now, and then you can fall out of my truck anytime you want to.”

  “Eh, go on with you.” The older man waved him off before heading for the entrance, stopping long enough to pull a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his face with the square of cloth decorated on one corner with the initials JDF hand-embroidered in bold blue lettering. “Feels like summertime.”

  John Michael had to agree. Even at 9:00 a.m., the day showed all the signs of the heat and humidity common to southwest Louisiana in mid-Spring. Never mind the miserably long, hot summer in the forecast. “Tomorrow’s June 1st—the beginning of hurricane season. I wonder if we’ll have any worth naming this year.”

  “That’s a kind of wait-and-see thing. The National Weather Center’s predictions haven’t exactly been spot on lately, have they?”

  “Nope, they’ve fallen far short for several years, thank God.” It occurred to him Zachary would need extra help battening down the Lake Erin Feed & Supply store’s hatches if they were hit with any storms from now through November. He’d likely be worrying about more important things, like keeping his wife and new babies safe.

  They stepped through the automatic doors of the entrance and headed for the elevators. John pushed the button for the third floor. He looked down at the man he’d passed up in height somewhere around the age of fifteen.

  “You know, we’re at a hospital. I’m sure there are some fine urologists here—and I know they have an optical clinic on the north side of the building. We could get you some appointments.” All he got for a reply was an ominous growl. “It’s called maintenance, Pop. To keep in top running shape—like changing the oil, refilling the washer fluid, and rotating the tires on a vehicle.”

  “It’s called minding your own business.”

  “You are my business when you think I should be at your beck and call to haul you around town.” The doors whooshed open at the second floor and an older woman boarded. Judging by the look on his dad’s face, her presence saved him from a verbal tongue lashing.

  By the time the doors opened onto the third floor, his dad had obviously decided to let it go—for the time being anyway. He knocked lightly on the door to room 324, pushed it open at his daughter-in-law’s call to enter. He grinned at Cathryn, propped up in her bed and holding a baby. He whispered a silent prayer, thankful she’d made it through the process of bringing life into this world. Pale, but beautiful, she sat there beaming at him.

  John could barely remember a time when Zachary hadn’t been crazy about Cat McDaniel. It had started somewhere around sixth grade—had taken nearly twenty years for his son to do something about it and get her to marry him. Since then, she’d infused some much needed joy into their family.

  “Hey there, Poppa John—or should I say Paw Paw John? Wash your hands first and then come on over here and introduce yourself to one of your grandchildren.”

  He did as she told him and approached the bed to give her a gentle hug. “How’s my favorite daughter-in-law doing?”

  She kissed his cheek. “Does it still count if I’m your only daughter-in-law?”

  “It absolutely counts. I could have twenty of ‘em and you’d always be my favorite. Which one do we have here? Scratch that, he’s swaddled in blue so this must be my new grandson.” He took the infant carefully and sat in the chair nearest her bed. “Hey, young man. I’m your grandfather. But you can call me Paw Paw John.” A gruff throat-clearing from the door had him looking up at his dad.

  “Excuse me, but that tagline’s been taken already, boy.”

  Cathryn chuckled. “Hey Paw Paw John.”

  “Exactly!” He nodded and pointed a thumb at his own chest. “I’m the only Paw Paw John in this family.” He puffed out his chest to his son. “You gotta be oldest and ugliest to get dibs.”

  Cat waved off his comment. “Pfft, there you go fishing for compliments again, Paw Paw. You know darn well there’s not an ounce of ugly on you.”

  “Ugly is as ugly does,” John growled. “And it’s not my fault five consecutive generations of Fergusons displayed a complete lack of imagination in naming their sons. That’s why Beth and I steered clear of it when we had one. Zachary is a nice, strong, perfectly acceptable name. And more importantly?” He leaned forward to make his point. “It’s not John.”

  The older John chuckled as he greeted Cathryn at the bed and kissed her forehead fondly. “Forget him. How’s my girl? You had a pretty rough time of it, I hear.”

  She gave him a one shouldered shrug. “I’m good, still a little weak, and they limit my nursing sessions, but I’m getting stronger all the time.”

  J.D.’s arthritic hand lingered on her head for a moment. He blinked several times and finally gave her a satisfied nod. “Good to know. Where’s the other one? I didn’t come here prepared to wait my turn. Hell, I thought I’d have my own bundle of joy to hold.”

  Cathryn chuckled. “She’s in the nursery. Her pediatrician is doing some blood work and running tests to ensure everything is as good on the inside as it is on the outside. She should be back soon.”

  Zach pushed open the door, carrying a large cup of coffee in one hand and a bottle of orange juice in the other. “Hey, we got us a party going on in here, or what?”

  “Now we do. Hey Zachary, that’s a handsome little man you’ve got there.”

  “Yes sir, I have to agree with you.” He shook his grandfather’s hand and pulled him close for a one-armed hug. “Wait until you see our daughter, Paw Paw. She’s going to be every bit as pretty as her mama.”


  “A looker already, huh?”

  “You bet.” Zach approached John, stood bent at the waist, resting his hands on his thighs to watch his sleeping son. “What do you think, Pop?”

  “Well, Son—” Suddenly overcome with emotion, John had to blink to clear his eyes. “I think I can get used to this real quick. Congratulations.”

  Zach beamed at his father and accepted the hand shake he offered. “Thanks.”

  All eyes pivoted toward the doorway as the pediatric nurse entered, pushing the portable bassinet into the room. “Here’s the other half of the dazzling duo. We’ll leave them in here to visit for another thirty minutes or so.”

  Cat waved at the woman. “Thank you, Ms. Jackie.”

  John stood to get a better look at his granddaughter. He grunted before casting a glance in his son’s direction. “Oh man. Are you ever gonna be in trouble in about fourteen years.”

  Zach snorted. “I hear you.” He reached out for his son and turned to his grandfather who was finishing up with his hand-washing, obviously anticipating his turn. “Paw Paw, you want to hold your great-grandson?”

  J.D. deposited the paper towel into the trash receptacle and turned, wearing a gleeful expression. “Well, hell yeah. Why else would I have suffered through your dad’s death defying driving skills?” He took over the chair John had previously occupied and clapped his hands together. “Hand him over.”

  Zach settled the baby into its great-grandfather’s arms, and the infant’s eyes opened wide. He stared into the older man’s face, as though studying him, or committing to memory, every laugh line, every wrinkle, and every work worn surface.

  J.D. checked out the baby boy. “Hello, young man. What’s your name?”