High Hurdles (41 page)

The fourth entry’s horse refused a jump. That left only Hilary.

Joe again held Major so DJ could watch. She stood with her hands behind her back, fingers crossed and prayers flying heavenward. Amy, right beside her, did the same.

Hilary and Prince jumped a clean round to the roar of the spectators. She’d have to go another. While the attendants raised the poles another two inches, DJ dashed outside.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay here.” Joe waved her back to the arena.

DJ felt as though she’d chew all her fingernails down to the quick. But with her fingers locked in a prayer, that would have been hard.

The first entry, a man, trotted into the ring. But, with a perfect round, he rushed the last jump. The pole wobbled and fell.

“Come on, Hilary. Even a tick will take it now. Do it, Hil, do it.”

Hilary Jones jumped a perfect round.

DJ and Amy stamped their feet, pounded their hands together, and screamed at the top of their lungs.

“You’ve got to get your ribbon.” Amy jabbed her friend with her elbow.

“Oh, right.” DJ flew back out to mount Major. She followed the others back into the ring and accepted the third-place white ribbon. This time she didn’t feel bad about not placing higher. A white ribbon in a group this size was fantastic.

When she stopped Major in front of Joe, she grinned at him. “Thanks for the horse, GJ.”

“You’re welcome.” He let out a sigh as if he’d been swimming under water. “Let’s go put this animal away, and I’ll treat you to—I don’t know, whatever they have over at that food room that looks good. I feel like I’ve been jumping those hurdles myself.”

“DJ, I can’t thank you and Amy enough. I’d have had to cancel without you.” Hilary stopped her horse on the edge of the group.

“No problem. You’d have done the same for us.”

“You did the same for me.” Tony leaned on his crutches. “Bridget told me how you worked with my horse last night.”

“It was nothing. That’s the way we do things at Briones.”

“Yeah, well . . . thanks.”

DJ watched him hobble back to the arena. She shook her head. “Can you beat that?”

That afternoon after lunch, DJ took a breather from her showing and teaching duties. She joined her family in the stands and propped her elbows on the bench seat behind her.

“Want a cookie, darlin’?” Gran leaned over Joe to offer DJ a chocolate chip cookie.

“Yes, thank you.” Joe took it and bit into it.

“Not you, you big galoot.” Gran thumped him on the arm.

“You said darlin’.” He winked at DJ and looked soulfully at Gran. “How was I to know which darlin’ you meant?”

Gran dug in her box for another cookie. She shook her head at the clamoring Bs and handed it to DJ. “You’d think these characters hadn’t already eaten half the box.”

“Thanks, Gran.” DJ munched and watched as Gran opened the box and let the boys each have another cookie. “You’re a soft touch.” She looked at Shawna sitting quietly on her other side. “Did you get any?”

The girl nodded. “DJ, you were awesome. You think I’ll be able to ride like that someday?”

Andy groaned. “Next I suppose we’ll have to buy a house out here, too.”

“Really, Daddy?” Shawna’s blue eyes lit up as if someone had just turned on a Christmas tree. “When?”

“We’ll just send her to live with Robert and the boys.” Sonya reached over Gran’s shoulder and helped herself to a cookie. “How’s your house coming?”

“Plans are finalized, now I just need approval from Contra Costa County. As soon as the permits are in my hand, my men’ll go to work.” Robert stretched his long legs over the seat in front of him. “Boys, no running.” He snagged one of the Bs by the back of his shirt.

“Hey, Lindy, did you get approval for your thesis?” Sonya turned to ask.

“Probably Monday. It looks pretty safe.”

DJ glanced at her mother. How come she hadn’t told her daughter? You’d think that was good enough news to share. But DJ remembered back to the scene in the bedroom the night before. Probably her mother hadn’t been thinking much about her thesis when she was crying over Robert. Grown-ups were so strange.

A shriek, cut off by a thud, derailed the thought. DJ leaped to her feet. But not before Lindy, who was closest to the edge of the bleachers. She was over the side and on the floor before anyone could blink.

By the time DJ got there, Lindy had the twin who’d taken a header off the bleachers cuddled in her arms, a gentle hand smoothing back hair already slick with blood.

“There now,” she murmured, rocking him at the same time. “You’ll be okay.”

When Robert tried to take Bobby into his own arms, the little guy clung to Lindy.

Joe put a folded handkerchief on the streaming cut and held it in place, in spite of Bobby’s turning away. “Robert, go get some ice. Don’t worry, son, head wounds always bleed like crazy. He’s all right—or will be once we get this stitched up.”

Robert did as he was told, and DJ put her arms around Billy, who was crying just as hard. “Hey, you’re not hurt.”

Lindy carried the now hiccuping twin to the bleachers and sat with him on her lap. Blood stained her silk blouse and pants. She had a smear of blood across her cheek and more on her hands. When the ice came, she put the Ziploc bag against the wound and held it in place with her other hand.

DJ and Gran swapped grins. This was the woman who thought she couldn’t be a mother?

“I knew she had it in her all along.” Gran wrapped an arm around DJ’s waist, patting the twins’ legs in the same motion. Both twins had taken the same position, legs wrapped around the Randall who held them, cheeks into chests and arms around necks.

Later when DJ returned to the horse line, she thought about the look Robert had given Lindy and her charge as they’d gotten into his car to go to the emergency room. Gooey looks for sure.

The next night, after the entire show was finished and the horses were all back in their proper stalls, the family gathered at Gran and Joe’s for dinner. Bobby proudly showed everyone his five black-thread stitches.

Billy moped around, his lower lip stuck out.

“Come here, B, I have a surprise for you.” DJ took his hand and led him into Gran’s studio. She set him up on the table and picked up a drawing pencil. With deft strokes, she drew lines in the same spot as Bobby’s.

He giggled.

“Now, let’s check that out.” She carried him into the bathroom so he could see himself in the mirror.

“I gots stitches, too.” He smacked a kiss on her cheek. She set him down, and he dashed off announcing the change as he ran.

The look Robert gave her made DJ feel warm inside. It had been such a little thing. But then, little things were important to kids. She ought to know.

She strolled back into the living room and looked over at her mother. Lindy was just reaching up to hand Robert something. The diamond ring twinkled on her left hand.

DJ crossed the room and leaned over the back of her mother’s chair. “So, is there something you need to tell all of us?”

“I wanted to tell you first.” Lindy looked up over her shoulder. “Is it okay?”

“Fine with me. But what about being scared?”

“I learned that thinking about something that’s coming is always worse than the actual event. With God’s grace and a lot of love, I think we’ll make it.”

“Me too.” DJ took her mother’s hand. “Oh, and I better get a plan started if we’re going to have a wedding.”

She looked up to catch the twinkle in her grandmother’s eyes and the slight shake of the white-crowned head. 
That’s right, Gran, no more plans. At least not for other people. Let them make their own
. She made an 
O
 with her thumb and forefinger and showed it to Gran.

Gran smiled and nodded.

But, then again, maybe just a
 teeny 
little plan.

To Angie Ingalsbe,

my friend and encourager.

Someday I’ll be reading your books

starring horses and kids.

Chapter
•
1

Even in California, winter can be cold and wet.

DJ Randall sneezed, tempted to wipe her nose on her sleeve. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a tissue? It would be nice if she could warm her frozen hands in her pockets, but that was tough to do when your horse’s reins required two hands. Of course, it helped if the hands weren’t shaking.

She glanced around to see if anyone was watching and quickly swiped her sleeve under her nose.

“Gross.”

“Where’d you come from?”

“I was hiding behind the posts. What do you think?” Amy Yamamoto, DJ’s best friend for all of their fourteen years, reined her gelding, Josh, next to Major. Tall DJ on the rangy bay and petite Amy on her compact sorrel kept alive the Mutt and Jeff nickname the two had earned.

Amy dug a tissue out of her jacket pocket. “Here.”

“You’re just like my mother.”

“Hey, dweeb, you need a mother. How come we’re working horses in the rain instead of home making fudge or something?”

“Popcorn sounds good.”

“Fudge is better. Right now anything chocolate would be better.” Amy played turtle in her collar to stop the drips from her helmet from running down her neck. “Make that
hot
chocolate.”

“It’s not raining now.” DJ glanced up at the dark gray sky hanging one story off the ground. A fat raindrop splattered in her eye. “So I was wrong. I’m going in—got more horses to groom.”

“Lucky.”

DJ signaled her Morgan-Thoroughbred, Major, to trot and circle the arena again. “Come on, fella, let’s get this right so we can quit.” She’d been working on rhythm to stride so that they would be more controlled in approaching jumps. She’d rather jump any day than work the flat, but today the outside jumping arena would be slippery, so flat work it was.

Flat is what DJ felt. Flat and wet. She gritted her teeth, ignored a shiver, and kept the beat of the trot. Major wanted to go to the barn as badly as she did. He snorted and picked up the pace every time they neared the gate.

“You want to stay out here all night?”

Major shook his head, and the droplets that had gathered on his mane sprayed her face.

DJ tightened the reins to bring him to a stop. She wrapped the reins around her wrist, dug the tissue out of her pocket, and blew her nose. Major’s ears twitched at the honk, and he shifted his front feet. “Major, stand still.” Her tone cut like a P.E. teacher barking orders. Major laid his ears back and twitched his tail. But he stood. They circled the ring once more, this time the beat perfect—no gaining, no slowing. Controlled.

“Why couldn’t you do that fifteen minutes ago?” DJ leaned forward to open the gate. Major raised his head and nickered at the male figure just coming out of the barn door. “Oh, sure, say hi to Joe and spray me. Some friend you are.” While she grumbled, DJ swung the gate open, kneed Major through, and swung the gate closed again. All the while, Major kept his eyes on the approaching figure.

“How you doing, kid?” Joe Crowder, recently married to DJ’s widowed grandmother, stopped in front of them and stroked the bay’s nose. “How you doing, old buddy? Did I see you giving DJ a hard time? You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

“Yeah, right. Sure he wouldn’t.” DJ leaned forward and stroked her horse’s neck. Joe had sold her Major when he had retired from the San Francisco mounted police, taking his horse with him.

Joe rubbed Major’s ears, then down the white blaze. “He never did care much for rain all those years on the force. Can’t say I blame him.” Joe turned and walked beside them back to the barn. “You and Amy want a ride home?”

“Do dogs bark?”

“A simple yes would be fine.” His smile crinkled the skin around his blue eyes. “You look like a drowned rat.”

“Gee, thanks.” DJ kicked her feet from the stirrups and dropped to the ground. “Ouch.”

“Cold, huh?”

“Y-e-s.” She caught her upper lip between her teeth. With the easy motions of long habit, she ran the stirrups up, unbuckled the girth, and swung flat saddle and pad off in one smooth swoop. Then, grabbing a grooming bucket, she led Major out to his stall in the covered but open pens. Joe’s sorrel Quarter Horse, Rambling Ranger, nickered a greeting, as did Josh.

“Get a move on,” Amy said from Josh’s stall. “We’re supposed to be home by dark, remember?”

“Joe’s giving us a ride.” DJ slipped the bridle off and fixed the blue web halter in place. “Thanks, GJ.” She nodded toward the filled hay sling and the measured grain in the feed bucket.

“Any time, kid.” Joe picked up a brush and began grooming Major’s other side. “Your mother getting home tonight, or are you coming to our house?” DJ’s mother, Lindy, sold bulletproof vests, Glock guns, and other supplies to law-enforcement agencies around northern California. When she wasn’t doing that, she was working on getting her master’s degree. Lately, though, much of her time went to Robert, Joe’s son—and DJ’s soon-to-be stepfather. The thought of having a father around seemed strange to DJ because she’d never met her birth father, didn’t know who he was, and didn’t care to. After the wedding, she’d have brothers, too—five-year-old twin dynamos named Bobby and Billy. She had yet to tell them apart.

“Mom said she’d be home, but I never know for sure until I see her or check for messages on the machine. Sure would be nice if she had dinner ready.” Only since Joe and Gran had married and Gran moved to a new home had DJ learned what it was like to be a latchkey kid. Often she cooked the evening meal for both her and her mother.

Major munched his dinner with enthusiasm, sharing some with DJ through a slobbery snort in her face.

“Ugh.” DJ brushed him away. “I love you, too, but sheesh.” She sneezed and clamped her brush between her knees to retrieve her tissue. “I should have brought a box full.” She blew her nose again and wrinkled her face. “If I’m catching a cold, I’ll—”

“Don’t say that. Say, ‘I’m catching a healing.’ ” Amy slammed her gate closed and, bucket in hand, stopped at Major’s stall.

“What?”

“My mom heard a former Miss America talk about catching a healing instead of catching a cold. She said it works.”

“Oh, sure. When my eyes run as fast as my nose and I sneeze till I can’t catch my breath, I’m supposed to say I’m catching a . . . a what?”

“Healing, darlin’. Makes perfect sense.” Joe took the brushes out of her hands and dumped them into the bucket. He slapped Major a good-night and took DJ by the arm. “Hey, it’s worth a try. Of course, prayer is the first defense, but the two might work well together.”

“Now you sound like Gran.” DJ let him lead her out of the stall. “Night, Major.” The big horse followed them and hung his head over the gate. DJ gave him a last pat before trotting off to catch up to the others. “AACHOOO!” The sneeze nearly blew her head off.

“Repeat after me, ‘I am catching a healing,’ ” Amy chanted.

“I ab cadching a coad,” DJ insisted. She wiped her eyes and breathed through her mouth. At least that part of her face worked like it should.

“Stub-born,” Joe said as he joined the girls at the wide doors leading to the front of Briones Riding Academy’s long, low pole barn. The rain had turned to drizzle that sparkled like falling fireworks in the glow of the mercury yard light.

“You two get your bikes, and I’ll bring the truck around.” Joe gave DJ’s shoulders a squeeze. “Hang in there, kid, and we’ll get you and your healing home.”

Amy chuckled beside her. Her black hair, held back in a scrunchy like the one in DJ’s wavy blond hair, glistened in the light. “You sound worse all the time.”

“Thank you, Dr. Yamamoto. How am I supposed to ‘catch a healing’ with you telling me how yucky I sound?”

“Sorry. It slipped out. Hey, I’m just telling you what my mom said.”

DJ felt like slugging her but knew it would take too much effort.

With Joe’s help, they loaded the bikes into the back of the Explorer. Both girls climbed into the front so they could share the seat and the heater on the short ride home. After dropping off Amy, they drove three houses down and into the empty drive. The kitchen window showed dark.

DJ groaned. Why couldn’t her mother live up to her promises for once?

“Come on, let’s go see if there’s a message.” Joe got out and retrieved DJ’s bike from the back. He wheeled it up to the closed garage door. “Go open the door and let me in.”

“All right.” DJ forced herself to leave the warmth of the car and head up the walk to the front door. The wind blew right through her Windbreaker and sweat shirt, knifing into her chest. The shock made her cough, which made her sneeze. By now, the tissue was too worn out to be any use. She jammed the key in the door, but it wouldn’t turn. “F-fiddle. D-double fiddle.” DJ sniffed, retried the key, and wished she could call her mother a few names. Why couldn’t she come home like she’d said? She shoved the key at the lock again. It wouldn’t even go in the slot.

“Hey, hurry up over there.”

“I’m trying.” DJ turned the key over. This time it slipped right in, the lock turning as smoothly as if she’d just oiled it.
Always helps if you put the key in right
. She brightened as she stepped over the threshold. Since her mother wasn’t home, she could go home with Joe and Gran. That would make her feel better. She trotted across the kitchen and punched the garage door opener by the back door. The blinking red light on the answering machine caught her attention as the garage door groaned its way upward.

She punched the button on the machine. “Sorry, DJ, but I had an unexpected appointment. I know you won’t mind going to Gran’s. Call Joe and he will come to get you.”

“No need for that, I’m right here.” Joe’s voice sounded loud in the stillness.

“Let me change, and I’ll go home with you.”

“Bring your school clothes and books, too, just in case you’re spending the night.”

“Right.” DJ leaped up the stairs to her room and gathered her things. Amazing how much better she suddenly felt. She bounded back down to meet Joe at the front door.

“You got everything?”

“I think so.” They stepped out and as DJ turned to pull the door closed, the phone rang. “Ohhh.” She sighed and went back into the house.

Picking up the phone, she tried to sound as pleasant as her mother had drilled her. “Hello.”

“Hello, I’d like to speak to Darla Jean Randall, please.”

“Speaking.” DJ cradled the phone on her shoulder. Who would be calling her? It was a man’s voice after all. And he certainly didn’t know enough not to call her Darla Jean. Only her mother could get away with that—and then only when she was mad.

There was a pause, then, “Darla Jean, my name is Bradley Atwood. I am your father.”