High Hurdles (19 page)

They shook their heads and headed for the barn, giggles floating back over their shoulders.

After the girls finished grooming their horses and cleaning their stalls, Mrs. Lincoln returned to pick up Angie. She handed a wrapped package to Angie, who brought it to DJ with a smile big enough to crack her face.

“Here, we want you to have this—kind of a thank-you.”

“For what?” DJ looked from Angie to her mother.

“For saving my daughter’s life.”

“Yeah, but . . .” DJ sputtered the words. “You . . . you can’t—”

“Yes, we can. Just open it.” Mrs. Lincoln clasped her hands on her mountain of a stomach.

DJ tore the paper and let it drop to her feet. Inside the box lay a headstall and reins, along with an envelope. “Wow, what a beauty.”

“For your new horse.” Angie crowded close. “Open the envelope.”

Inside was a gift certificate for a local tack shop.

“We thought you could use that for a bit. We didn’t know what kind to buy.” Angie looked up at DJ. “Do you like it?”

“Like it. I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“Thank
you
, DJ. Your quick thinking made me feel so much braver about letting Angie out of my sight. The first time she got stung by a bee, we found out she had asthma. Until then, we thought her breathing problems were only allergies.” Mrs. Lincoln tried to straighten and twisted her shoulders from side to side. “I have an ache in my lower back that tells me we better get home. We might have a baby tonight.”

“Are you sure you can drive?” DJ asked. “I mean—should you? I can call someone.”

“No, no. It’ll be hours yet, and maybe not till tomorrow. But I probably won’t make the show this weekend.” She patted DJ on the shoulder. “See you.”

DJ watched them get in their car and leave.
What an incredible thing for them to do
. She held the headstall in her hand, running her fingers over the smooth leather. It looked large enough for a big horse, all right. And Joe had said Major was more than sixteen hands tall.

When she took Patches out in the arena, even
he
behaved—for him, anyway. He tried to run away with her only once.

She didn’t even mind the empty house when she got home. Joe would be coming soon!

Chapter
•
8

“Major, I’d like you to meet my new granddaughter, Darla Jean Randall. She prefers to be called DJ.”

“Oh, wow.” DJ stretched out her hand so the big horse could sniff her. “Major, am I ever glad to meet you.” She smiled at the tickle of his whiskers on the back of her hand and up her arm. He continued his sniffing exploration, up her shoulder, her hair. When he gently blew horsy breath in her face, she knew she was accepted.

DJ dug in her pocket for the bit of carrot and the horse cookie she’d brought along. She held them out, one on each palm. “Which do you like best?”

Major looked at her, intelligence beaming from his large, dark eyes. He nosed each treat, then lipped the carrot first.

“Ah, so you’re a vegetable man.” He quickly ate the other before she changed her mind and put it away.

“He likes sugar the best, but I keep telling him cubes aren’t good for his teeth.” Joe rubbed up behind the black ears and down the horse’s neck and shoulder. “But you don’t agree, do you, old man?” Major leaned into the rubbing, almost purring in pleasure.

“What else does he like?”

“Popcorn, peanuts, candy. When we’re out on patrol, he’s not supposed to have snacks, but sometimes kids sneak him things. He likes kids, hates guns, and has a heart as big as the Golden Gate Bridge.”

DJ rubbed the horse’s cheek and stroked the white blaze down his face. When she stopped, Major ducked his head lower so she could reach him more easily.

“He loves parades, especially when the mounted police march as a unit. Crowd control is what he excels at. Not too many people argue when he swings his rump around and moves to the side. See his feet? While he’s careful where he puts them, even the roughest, drunkest agitators don’t want to get their feet stepped on.”

“But he doesn’t have big feet for his size.”

“No, but he looks as though he could mash your foot, wouldn’t you say?”

DJ nodded. “Even a pony stepping right on your toes can hurt.”

“Right. And you should see Major when he pins his ears to his head and starts to glare. Could melt ice, he could.” Joe stepped back. “He and I, we’ve been through many a scrape, we have.” He retrieved a lead rope off the nail by the horse’s stall and snapped it to the blue nylon halter. “Here, I’ll take him out so you can see how he moves. Sorry, I can’t let you ride him tonight, department regulations, you know.”

“That’s okay. What breed did you say he was?”

“Morgan-Thoroughbred. Half and half. Nice easy gaits; you can ride him all day and not get tired. I should know, I have.” He led the horse down the dirt aisle.

DJ stood and watched the horse’s action from the rear. Strong in the haunches, straight in the leg. She tried to remember all the points Bridget had been teaching her. He was a good mover; it showed in knees, hocks, and ankles. Bridget said that was important for a jumper. That and strength in the hindquarters.

“You say he likes to jump?”

“When he’s had a chance. We set up some low jumps over a downed tree in Golden Gate Park a couple times for fun. He learns quickly and remembers better’n an elephant. If he gets a treat at a certain place one time, he’ll expect it every time.”

Joe stopped Major right in front of DJ. He held the gelding at attention, head up, ears forward, feet squared. The white blaze down the horse’s face gleamed in the light from the overhead bar.

DJ smoothed her hand down the horse’s shoulder and down his leg. When her hand ran over his fetlock, Major lifted his foot without any hesitation. DJ moved to the rear and checked each of his legs. The horse obeyed the slightest command. “He’s had to learn to be handled by more than one person; police horses can’t be picky about their riders. It’s just he and I’ve been on the force together for so long, he became mine.”

She let Major sniff her shoulder again before working down the last leg. Halfway down his shoulder lay a patch of black skin with no hair. “What happened here?”

“That was a bullet meant for me. He deflected the shot by running into the guy. Not much of a scar left now, but that was too close a call for either of us.” Joe smoothed the sleek hair down over the spot. “His badge of honor.”

“Wow. When you said he was all heart, you weren’t kiddin’.” DJ stood back to look at the horse face on. Deep, wide chest and balanced on all fours. “He sure looks good to me. How do you get your horses here?”

“We purchase some, but many are donated. A calm temperament is most important. We also like it when we can form a drill with matching horses—bays like Major here are popular. I was fortunate that when I needed a horse, a family was moving to the East Coast and needed a home for their horse.” He stroked the arched neck with obvious love. “Major and I’ve been buddies ever since.”

This is going to be my horse as soon as Joe retires
. DJ felt like dancing again. Like running up and throwing her arms around the bay’s neck, then hugging Joe. Or maybe the other way around.

“Do you like him?” The question caught her short.

“
Like
him? How could I not like him? I just can’t understand why you want to sell him.”

Joe put the horse back into his stall and unsnapped the lead. “Well, it’s like this. I decided to buy him and keep him for my grandchildren to ride. I knew Shawna had horses on the brain, and I thought maybe Bobby and Billy might like to ride someday. That way I could keep my best friend here with me. He’s too young to be put out to pasture.”

DJ stroked the horse one more time, told him good-night, and followed Joe down the aisle. They waved good-night to the officer on duty and the night watchman.

“So why sell him to me?”

“Are you sure you want him?

“Joe, for pete’s sake, what do I have to do—get down on my knees and beg?” DJ shot him a questioning look. What was wrong with the man? Couldn’t he see she was already nuts about the horse?

“Okay.” He opened the car door for her. “I know he’ll be good for you.”

“So?”

“All my life I’ve dreamed of having a cutting horse. Goes back to my love of Western movies, I guess. You know, where the cowboy and his horse are cutting cows out of the herd and the horse saves the rider from an irate bull. That kind of thing.” Joe ducked his chin, as if embarrassed to admit his dream.

“Hey, that’s cool.”

“Since you’ll be putting Major to work, I’m going to buy a cutting horse and enter the competitions. Think your grandmother will tag along while I compete?”

“Sure.” DJ shrugged. “Long as she doesn’t have a deadline. Gran will try anything and have a ball doing it.”

“Does Bridget know anything about cutting horses?”

“Some. She knows something about all kinds of horses and lots about showing and jumping. She’ll put you in touch with the right people.”

Joe eased his car into traffic on the Bay Bridge. “Kind of exciting finally realizing a lifelong dream—my cutting horse, I mean.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve wanted a horse of my own since I was little. I started working at the Academy when I was ten so I could have riding lessons. Mom and Gran thought I’d quit in a couple weeks.” DJ couldn’t believe she was talking like this with the man who had stolen Gran. It wasn’t long ago that she’d decided to hate him.

“Melanie says you want to jump in the Olympics someday.”

“Yep, that’s my dream.” It seemed strange to hear Gran referred to as anything but Gran. Melanie was someone else entirely. “I have a long way to go, so much to learn.”

“That’s what makes life interesting.” Joe checked over his shoulder and changed lanes. “You up for an ice-cream sundae?”

“Sure. There’s a good place in Pleasant Hill. I’ll show you where to turn.” DJ looked over at the man driving the car. Light from the dashboard showed a strong face with an almost permanent smile. Laugh lines crinkled the edges of his sky blue eyes. His thick hair looked more white than gray in the dimness. It was cut short as though he didn’t care to fuss with it.

“You think I could compete with a cutting horse?”

“Why not? There are all kinds of local shows. If the horse is really good and you don’t feel confident enough, you can hire someone to train and show him.”

Joe nodded. “I mentioned to your grandmother that I might be too old to do something like this, and she nearly bit my head off.”

“A lot of retired people compete. They’ve finally got a chance to buy a horse, and they’re loving it.” DJ pointed to a huge plastic balloon shaped like an ice-cream container. “Over there. Take the next exit.”

By the time they finished their ice cream and Joe dropped her off at home, DJ knew she had a friend for life. Of course, their love for horses gave them plenty to talk about. Joe Crowder was an easy man to talk to. No wonder Gran had fallen in love so fast.

DJ fell asleep thanking God for the big horse that had already taken over a large part of her heart. Soon Major would be hers!

She talked nonstop on the way to the Academy in the morning, telling Amy all about the dark bay horse and her evening with Joe.

“And you didn’t want Gran to marry him.” Amy set the kickstand on her bike.

“I know. Maybe I could go live with Gran and Joe.” She’d thought that before, but never said it out loud.

“DJ, you already have a home.”

“Yeah.” DJ thought back to the empty house she’d gladly left behind. If she didn’t get a bunch of housework done today, she and her mother would be at it again. How come one house could get so messed up with only two people living in it?

Patches pranced around the hot walker, his momentum dragging the other horses clipped to it along at a trot. DJ stopped to watch him for a second. He sure was lively today. She hustled back to the barn to clean his stall. Bridget had increased her time with the gelding to two hours on the days she wasn’t teaching.

Once in the arena, she trotted him around the circle three or four times, waiting for the signal that he was ready to settle down to business. When he finally agreed to an easy jog, she knew the time was right.

“Boy, whoever rides you is going to have to spend plenty of time in the warm-up arena.” She patted his neck and started him into the routine. Figure eights for reining, first at a walk, then a jog, and finally a lope. He learned to dance with her as they practiced lead changes around the ring. Her body swayed with the rhythm—lean left, left lead; lean right, right lead. The movements gentle, the lope a thing of beauty and grace.

“Good Patches. That was the best ever.” She reined him to a halt and patted his neck. There was no better feeling in the world than when a horse did what he was asked. She took in a breath scented with dust and the horse beneath her. “Okay, next step. Time to learn to back up.”

She dismounted and, with the reins in one hand, tapped his shoulder with the other and pulled back with the reins. “Back, Patches, back,” she instructed. Patches shifted from side to side and snorted. DJ repeated the command, voice firm, “Back, Patches, back.”

This time he backed away from the pull on his bit. “Good job, Patches.” She patted him and rubbed his nose. When she repeated the command, he planted his feet and didn’t budge.

“Fiddle. And here I thought you were going to get this right away.” She settled him down and tried again. Patches laid his ears back.

DJ took a deep breath, calming herself as much as the horse. The next time, he swished his tail, but he backed up a couple of steps. “Good, fella.” This time he got loves and pats. He rubbed his nose against her shoulder.

When he obeyed the command four times in a row, DJ decided it was time to try the same command from his back. She mounted and settled into the saddle. “Back, Patches, back.” She gently but firmly pulled back on the reins and leaned forward slightly, leaving the back door open for him to follow the command. “Back, Patches, back.” He flattened his ears back and shifted from one foot to the other before he twitched his tail and backed up. DJ thumped on his neck and down his shoulder. “Good fella, Patches. Good.” She petted him for a few moments, then gave the command again.

When he had obeyed three times in a row without arguing, she nudged him forward and let him jog around the arena. He let out a relieved-sounding snort.

“I’m with you, fella. But you did good.” Just as she leaned forward to stroke his neck, a little kid ran up to the fence and leaped on the rails, his shoes clanging on the aluminum bars.

Patches exploded. Head down, rear feet in the air. Stiff-legged hop and another buck.

DJ grabbed for the saddle horn. Too late. She was off and flying through the air.

She hit the dirt with a
thwump
that vibrated throughout her body.