High Hurdles (43 page)

Chapter
•
4

Thought one:
Patches, you’re dead meat.

Thought two:
When I can breathe again, that is.
If
I can ever breathe again.

“DJ, are you all right?” Krissie, one of her beginning students, knelt in the dirt beside her.

DJ spit out a chunk of dirt and rolled to a sitting position. One knee burned, and her chest hurt—getting the breath knocked out of you did that. Most of all, though, her pride felt like she’d landed squarely on it.

“I’ll be fine.” She leaned her head from side to side and sucked in a deep breath through her mouth. She gagged and choked on another chunk of dirt—at least, she hoped it was only dirt. Pulling a tissue from her pocket, she blew her nose, smearing more dirt in the process. The mess showed on the soggy tissue.

Krissie let out a wail. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t called to you . . .”

DJ shook her head. “I know better than to take my mind off Patches. He was just waiting for a chance to—that no-good, rotten hunk of horse meat. Where is he?”

“Running around the arena like he lost his mind.” Krissie put a hand under DJ’s arm to help her up.

Keep cool,
DJ ordered herself.
How could I let that fool horse dump me? This has got to be the worst day of my life.

DJ brushed the dirt off her jeans and turned to look for Patches. Good thing the gates had been closed, or he’d be out loose in Briones State Park or on the road by now. She gingerly took off her helmet and glanced at Krissie. Fat tears welled in her eyes, and her chin quivered.

“Hey, forget it. Remember the day you took a header?” The girl nodded. “Did you get really hurt?” Krissie shook her head. “It can happen to any rider, no matter how long you’ve been working with horses. You have to be careful all the time.” DJ tried to keep the grumble out of her voice, but she wanted to scream and pound the fence. Or Patches.

“Go get ready for your lesson. I’ll get that crazy horse.”

Krissie hesitated as though she had more to say, but at DJ’s frown, she trotted off.

DJ strode across the arena. When she got close, Patches threw up his head and charged past her. She tried to grab his reins but missed. Calling him every name she could think of and a few she invented, she stomped across the parking lot, the rain dripping down the neck of her slicker.

In the tack room, she found a can and scooped some grain, then rushed back across the lot to the arena, her jeans sticking to her legs. By now, Patches was having a grand time evading David.

“Patches!” DJ rattled the feed can.

The horse skidded to a halt, ears pricked. She walked toward him as he tentatively moved toward her, nose extended so he could sniff to check that she wasn’t tricking him. DJ knew better than to scold him before she had a hand on his reins, so she called him names in a gentle, wheedling tone. “You stupid beast. I could brain you, you know. If I have to get someone else to help me, you are going to be very, very sorry.”

Patches stopped just far enough away that she couldn’t reach his reins. Good thing she’d knotted them for Mrs. Johnson, or he’d have stepped on one and broken it. That could have hurt his mouth—and all because she wasn’t paying attention. DJ shifted the name-calling to herself.

“Hey, DJ, having trouble with your horse?” Tony Andrada, his drawl proclaiming his Southern ancestry, leaned crossed arms on his horse’s withers. For a while, she and Tony had really mixed it up over the rotten way he had treated her friend Hilary Jones. But lately things had been at least civil.

Except for now.

The daggers DJ shot him should have knocked him bleeding from his horse. “Why don’t you go find a canyon and fall into it?”

“Whoa.” Tony raised his hands and leaned backward. “S-o-r-r-y.” He turned his horse away. “Just thought I could help.”

DJ stood still and shook the can to rattle the grain. Patches sniffed as she dug out a handful and held it out to him. He snorted, stepped forward, lipped the grain, and reached for the can.

DJ clamped a firm hand on the reins and handed the can to David. “Here, you take this. A hammerhead like him doesn’t deserve a treat.” Without offering pats or soft words, she swung aboard and ordered Patches into a slow jog, the gait he hated the most. Once around the ring and she reversed, made him back up, ran through some figure eights, and headed for the gate. “Good boy.” Her compliment didn’t sound any friendlier than her name-calling had been.

Good thing Bridget Sommersby was gone for the day. Telling her later wouldn’t be nearly as humiliating as having her watch. The owner of Briones Riding Academy had become DJ’s mentor.

DJ’s three girl students—Krissie, Angie, and Samantha—were riding their horses around the arena at a walk when DJ returned after putting Patches away.

DJ was in no mood to give a lesson, but since no one was asking, she gritted her teeth. On top of feeling like she’d been slugged, a case of cramps had hit in full force. Add a headache on top of that, and DJ felt like chewing nails and spitting them out machine-gun style. She rubbed her forehead. Add to the mess a new—or rather old—father, a rambunctious horse, and students who were looking at her as though she’d sprouted horns. She felt like she was trapped in the picture book Bobby and Billy, the Double Bs, loved so much—this was truly a terrible, no good, awful, very bad day. Or something like that.

She sucked in a deep breath and winced. Her ribs hurt. “Okay, kids, let’s pick up the pace. Take a lesson from me and keep your concentration on what you’re doing. Let’s see a good ride.” She watched them closely.

“Come on, Angie—back straight, relax your shoulders. Krissie, who’s in control over there?” The criticisms came a little too easily. “Samantha, keep those reins even. You’re confusing your horse.”

By the time the lesson was over, the girls looked like whipped puppies. They quickly filed out of the gate into rain that hadn’t let up an iota.

“Boy, were you hard on them or what?” Amy reined up beside DJ. She’d been circling at the far end of the arena for some time.

“Oh, knock it off. I wasn’t either.”

“Ex-c-u-s-e me.” Amy looked closely at her friend. “You’re a mess.”

“Thanks a big fat lot.” DJ turned and stomped through the puddles to the barn. Maybe riding Major would make her feel better. When she walked by the girls unsaddling their horses, they peeked at her out of the corners of their eyes. No playful chatter, no teasing.

DJ stopped. “Look, I get the feeling I’ve been a grouch. I’m sorry. You all did fine out there.”

It was as if the sun came out right there in the barn.

“Are you feeling all right?” Angie asked, always sensitive to other people’s pain since she managed so much of her own.

DJ shook her head. “But that’s not your problem.”

“Did you get hurt hitting the ground?” Krissie’s blue eyes were still troubled.

“No. Unless you call smacked pride hurt. Come on, kids, your mothers will be here soon and you need to wipe your saddles.” DJ mentally added guilt to the load she was lugging around like a full feed sack.

Major greeted her with a nicker that could be heard the length of the roofed stalls. Rain drummed steadily on the corrugated fiber glass sheets overhead. Only the lights strung along the ceiling beam kept the dusk out of the stalls.

“Hi, fella. Sure glad someone is happy to see me.” She dug half of a horse cookie out of her slicker pocket. “I saved this for you.” She sneezed and hunted for a tissue.

Major took his treat and munched, nosing her face and shoulders at the same time. Alfalfa grain mixed with molasses smelled good to DJ, but horse smelled even better. She inhaled the horsey perfume and leaned her forehead against Major’s neck. Joe had already cleaned the stall and given Major a good grooming.
If I hadn’t fooled around with Patches, I would have been here doing my own work. That dumb horse. I better remind Mrs. Johnson to put him on the hot walker
. DJ sighed and rubbed her head again. If this was what migraines felt like, no wonder her mother was a bear at times.

“Come on, fella, let’s get going.” She snapped the lead shank on to his blue nylon halter and, unhooking the gate, led him through.

Joe met her halfway down the aisle as he returned from working Ranger. “You okay, kid?”

“I will be.”

“Heard you took a fall.”

“Yeah. Later, okay?”

She could feel Joe’s gaze drilling into her back as she led Major to the tack room. The girls were gone and the evening hush that came just before the adults arrived had settled on the barn. DJ put her arms around Major’s neck and leaned against him. His warmth felt wonderful as it penetrated through her clothing. “What would I do without you? You big sweetie, you.”

Major turned and nudged her shoulder as if to say, Come on, let’s get riding. DJ hugged him again and went to get her tack. If riding Major didn’t make her feel better, nothing would.

“You want to talk about it?” Joe asked on the way home.

“I’m fine.” DJ dug at the snag on her cuticle.

“Sure, and I’m Madonna.” Amy gave her a sour look.

“Just bug off, will ya?” The moment she said them, DJ wished she could snap the words back into her mouth. She could feel the looks Amy and Joe were swapping. No one dared to say anything more to her. Amy thanked Joe as she quickly hopped out of the truck.

“You want to come home with me?” Joe asked.

DJ shook her head. The dark house would fit the way she felt. “No, I think I’ll just go to bed.”

“DJ, did you get hurt out there?”

She shook her head.
How could she tell him that she felt like yuck?
She could feel the heat on her cheeks. He was a guy, for pete’s sake. She needed Gran or her mother, and neither one of them was here. She felt like bawling. How stupid!

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride.” She bailed out and dashed up the sidewalk, waving over her shoulder. She entered the kitchen to find the red eye on the answering machine blinking.

Did she dare ignore it? Habit and her mother’s drilling made her punch the button. Message one: “I’ll be home later, I have a pile of paper work to clear up here.” Message two: “Sorry you’re not there, Darla Jean and Lindy. I will call back later.” DJ recognized the voice immediately. This time, Mr. Brad Atwood gave a phone number and invited them to return his call.

“I don’t need you,” she growled at the phone. She punched the Save button hard, as if trying to poke a hole in the machine. “You didn’t need me all these years, and now I don’t need you.”

DJ stormed up the stairs and, after downing some ibuprofen in the bathroom, shucked her clothes and crawled into bed. Her wrist throbbed. If she never had another day like today, it would be too soon.

Chapter
•
5

DJ’s pride turned out to be the only lasting injury. Having to apologize for being a jerk the day before didn’t make it better.

Amy shrugged. “Forget it. I knew you weren’t your usual self. You were crazy.” She sat her Western saddle down on its horn by her stall and gave Josh a pat on the nose. “See you in the ring.”

“You nut!” DJ called over her shoulder. One good thing about riding English, the saddles were lighter. She opened the door to Major’s stall, pushing him aside so she could squeeze in. “Hi, guy. Looks like Joe’s been here.” Major nuzzled her pocket. “I know, you need a treat.” She dug out a carrot and stroked his forelock while he chewed. “You are so cool.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Joe stopped at her stall. Ranger nickered in the next box. “I’m coming, buddy.”

Joe saddled the gelding and rode into the covered arena with DJ. Major pricked his ears, aware of everything around him, and settled into an easy trot that didn’t even require posting. DJ could feel herself relax. Riding or even working with Major was as different from her time with Patches as birds from bumblebees.

“You’ve really been working with him,” DJ said with a nod toward Ranger.

“Every afternoon. Except today.”

“What was today?” DJ leaned forward and stroked Major’s neck.

“I . . . ah—well, I checked up on Bradley Atwood.”

“You what?” Major snorted at DJ’s shift in position. “Easy, fella.”

“I had a friend look him up in the computers, that’s all. He has a clean record, owns quite a bit of land up in Santa Rosa, and has a sizable bank account.”

DJ stopped Major so she could focus on what Joe was saying. “You really ran a check?”

Ranger sidestepped, wanting as always to be moving. “Yes, and your grandmother is not happy with me—or at least, that’s what she claims.”

“I bet. Why’d you do it?”

“Just to be safe.” Joe nudged Ranger forward.

“Well, I’ll be.” DJ stroked Major’s neck and loosened her reins. Joe was watching out for her. Major settled back into his trot, and they circled the ring. When he was warmed up, she signaled a canter. If only they were riding up in Briones. Since the rain had begun—a hundred years ago, it seemed—she and Amy hadn’t ridden up in the hills.

DJ slowed the pace and rode with Amy awhile, then with Hilary. “This is like warming up before a show,” DJ said with a grin.

“Yep, only without the pressure. You missing jumping as much as I do?” Hilary asked.

“Yeah, but have you looked out at that arena? Pure slop in spite of all the sand.”

“I know. Maybe we could move the jumps in here. At least a couple of them.”

“Bridget won’t go for that.”

“She did one year when it was like this. I’ll ask her tomorrow. How’s the dressage coming?” Hilary ran a loving hand over her horse’s mane, smoothing an errant strand.

“Haven’t started. Bridget’s been gone and now that we’re without any extra arenas, she asked if I would wait to begin. I’ve been working Major on the flat. He sure learns fast. Faster’n I do.”

“You’ll get it eventually, but it’s not like jumping. Dressage takes lots and lots of drilling.”

“Sounds like what I’m doing with jumping, only without ever being airborne.”

Hilary’s teeth showed extra white against her dark skin. “You and I like the same things. But, hey, I’ve got to get home. Tests tomorrow.” She lifted a hand in a wave. “See ya.”

“Yeah, later.” DJ took Major down to the far end of the arena and began working him in a tighter circle. She might as well work him on bending. You could never do too much of that.

“See you tomorrow,” Joe said when they reached her house. “I see the boys are here.”

DJ groaned. “That means I’m late.” She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Or they’re early.”

“Have fun.”

Each twin glommed on a leg when she entered the house. DJ reached down and hugged first one, then the other.

“We was waiting for you.” “Daddy said you could come help us pick out the pizza.” “I want to ride.” “How’s Major?” The boys had a habit of talking on top of each other. Even after all these months, DJ still couldn’t tell Bobby and Billy apart. Blond, curly hair topped both round faces, identical blue eyes smiled up at her, and they never stood still long enough to see if one was taller or not. To save time, DJ had nicknamed her soon-to-be brothers the Double Bs.

“Okay, guys, give DJ a chance to breathe.” Robert Crowder, a slightly taller and good deal younger version of his father, Joe, came to her rescue. “I thought maybe we would just eat out. What do you think?”

“Fine with me. Where’s Mom?”

“She called from her car—should be here in a minute or two.” The cellular phone in her mother’s car was a gift from Robert. He said he liked knowing she was safe, especially with all the time Lindy spent on the road.

“Good, I’ll change then.”

“We help you.” The boys took her hands. “Hurry, we’s hungry.”

“Nope, guys, young ladies don’t need little boys to help them dress.” Robert tucked a squirming body under each arm and headed for the family room. “I know there’s a favorite book of yours here.”

“We want Arthur and his terrible, awful . . .”

DJ shut the bedroom door on their unison voices. What would it be like after the wedding when they all lived in one house? How would she put up with them underfoot all the time?

She changed with amazing speed—her mother didn’t appreciate the rich stable smells that clung to DJ after a day at the Academy. She picked up her boot and checked the bottom. Sure enough, that’s what she’d been smelling. She should have known to leave her boots in the garage. Probably left bits of horse manure all through the house.

But nothing was said when Lindy arrived home, and they had a great time at the pizza parlor. DJ took the boys to watch the cooks make pizza, then fed quarters into the horse for them. She’d rather get them up on Bandit again so they could learn to ride a real horse. If only they could buy Bandit. She’d borrowed the Welsh pony several times for the little kids to ride when they had family gatherings. Robert had promised the boys ponies and dogs as soon as they moved into the house he was remodeling over by Gran’s. While it wouldn’t be ready before the wedding in February, it would be soon after.

“The pizza’s here.” Both boys dashed back to the table. They bowed their heads and said grace before digging in.

DJ sneaked a peak at her mother. While they’d always said grace when Gran lived with them, Lindy didn’t much care for it. She said she’d leave the praying to Gran—she had enough to worry about.

With one twin on either side of her, DJ didn’t have time to think during the meal.

“DJ, when can we ride Major?”

“When you are bigger.”

“We’s bigger now. Can we ride tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so.” She took a bite of warm pizza and caught the thread of cheese with one finger. As she wound it around and stuck it into her mouth, she glanced at her mother. And flinched. Caught in the act. How come her mother was always looking when DJ did something silly?

Bobby and Billy both stuck their fingers in the cheese and did the same.

“Hey, guys, don’t do that.”

“You did.”

DJ could feel her mother’s withering look. And it didn’t feel good.