High Hurdles (16 page)

Another message on the machine didn’t do anything to improve the evening. Her mother couldn’t make it again.

DJ tried to shrug it off. Who cared anyway? She didn’t.

But if she didn’t care, why didn’t drawing a new horse sketch make her feel better? One fingernail started to bleed, she’d chewed it down so far. Good thing she didn’t say the word she thought. That kind of language wasn’t allowed in their house. Even an empty one.

Chapter
•
4

I wonder what my father was like?
DJ lay on her bed, one leg crossed over her raised knee. She swung the upper foot in time with the rhythm of her snapping gum. Snapping gum was another one of those habits that made her mother see red. There were sure a lot of things that set Mom off, especially lately.

DJ started listing them. Her bike left out—anything left out. She could hear her mother’s demand. “A place for everything, and everything in its place.” She hated that line. On with her list: horse-scented clothes, whether on her daughter or left in the hamper; loud music; mouthing off; any clothes DJ liked; two-fingered whistles in the house . . . DJ sighed. Face it. Nearly everything she did set her mother off now that Gran wasn’t around.

But that was enough thinking about her mother.
So, what about my father? What do I really know about my dad?
She wrinkled her forehead, trying to remember anything her mother or Gran had said about him. One thing they’d both said was that she got her love of horses from him. And she must look like him because she sure didn’t look like any of her mother’s relatives. There had to be some reason no one talked about him. Was he in jail for murder or something? Her mother must have really liked him at one time. After all, babies didn’t just come out of the sky.

Her mind followed this new thought. What would it feel like to really be in love with someone? Some girls at school thought they were in love, and they talked about guys all the time. DJ’s leg bounced more quickly. In love—fiddle! She’d never even kissed a boy, not really. You couldn’t count Raymond’s peck on her cheek. But if she’d wanted to, he probably would have—kissed her on the mouth that is.

But you had to feel something pretty special to let someone slobber all over you like actors did in the movies. DJ cracked her gum. “I’d rather have horse slobber any day.”

Someday there
would
be someone special in her life. Gran said God had one person in mind for her; she’d been praying for him since DJ was a little girl. And if love was like the glow surrounding Gran and Joe, it couldn’t be too bad. Kind of fantastic actually. DJ turned over and wrapped her arms around her pillow. Not having Gran around was a bummer.

Not having
anyone
around was worse than a bummer. Only four more days till she was off restrictions. She was counting the minutes. DJ made sure everything was put away, the laundry done, and the family room picked up—not that it needed much—before she went to bed. She wasn’t taking any chances on getting her grounding extended.

Her mother knocked on the door and said good-night when she came home. It made DJ miss Gran even more.

Friday morning, DJ packed her lunch for the picnic, putting a sandwich in a sturdy plastic container just as she’d told the girls to do. She stood at the open fridge door; they were out of fruit. No chips, either. She should have ridden her bike to the store last night. At least there were cookies. She dug a carrot out of the drawer and peeled it. Some lunch. Maybe Amy would grab an apple or something for her.

“Thanks, bud,” she yelled over her shoulder when Amy returned from getting a nectarine for DJ.

“You’re welcome. Are all three going today?”

“Yep. Unless Mrs. Lincoln had her baby during the night.”

The early morning felt crisp, and a breeze blew that made DJ glad she’d put a sweatshirt over her T-shirt. She could see trails of clouds peeping over the hills to the west. When San Francisco Bay was foggy, mornings here by Briones were cool. And wonderful. She sniffed the air, breathing deep in spite of the hill they were pedaling up.

At the Academy she and Amy rushed through their chores. Amy picked up some of DJ’s stalls so she’d have time to train Patches. Once in the ring, the gelding jigged sideways, tossing his head and generally being a number one pain.

“You sure are a stubborn one.” DJ leaned forward and patted his neck. “Keep testing me every day, hoping I’ll get soft?” Patches flicked his ears back and forth, taking in all the sights and sounds. With a sigh, he settled into an even jog, following her reining instructions without a hitch.

Half an hour later, he stopped immediately when DJ barely tightened the reins. “Well, I’ll be.” She shook her head. “If you behaved like this every day, I’d say you were ready for your owners. You could enter a Walk/Jog class and come out with a blue.” The thought burst like Fourth-of-July sparklers. No, it was too late. The Labor Day show was next week, and she hadn’t cleared it with the owners. But Patches sure would look good out there. And they’d find out how he did under pressure.

“You’re one smart fella.” She dismounted and led him out the gate. “Thanks, Ames,” she said when they entered the barn. Patches’ stall was cleaned and new shavings spread. “When are you going to have time to work with Josh?”

“This afternoon after the ride. If he doesn’t know the routine by now, he never will.” Amy leaned on her shovel handle. She started to scratch a spot on her face and instead used the tail of her T-shirt to wipe the sweat away.

“You look lots better.”

“Better’n what? At least it only looks like a bad case of the zits now. Sure makes me feel sorry for anyone who has bad skin. I never appreciated mine before.” She dabbed her forehead again.

DJ finished putting her gear away and trotted Patches out to the hot walker. She unsnapped Megs and brought her back into the barn.

Two of her students giggled their way to the barn, saddles over their arms. Their mothers brought up the rear with saddlebags and helmets.

“We’ll be back about two, right?” Sam asked.

“Angie and Sam need to wash their horses. We did mine last night.” Krissie hung her saddle over the door. “And I soaped this thing till my arm almost fell off.”

DJ tapped her on top of the head. “Good for you. That arm looks pretty well attached to me.”

Krissie giggled. “You know what I mean.”

Angie and her mother arrived next. Mrs. Lincoln handed DJ the beesting kit. “I’d rather this was in your saddlebag than hers. You be careful now, dear.” She gave her daughter a hug.

Angie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Mom. See you about five?”

DJ smiled and turned to her crew as soon as the last of the mothers walked away. “Okay, kids, let’s hit the arena. Last class before the big show, so let’s do it right.”

“And only three more classes before school. Yuk.” Sam shook her head and made a face. “I hate school, just hate it!”

“I’d rather ride every day like DJ.”

“You think I don’t go to school?” DJ tugged on Angie’s ponytail. “Dream on. Come on, strap on your helmets. You’re sure poking along today.” She went from horse to horse, checking to make sure each saddle was positioned over the withers and the girths smooth.

“We know how to saddle up by now.” Sam stood back so DJ could check.

“I know you do, but double-checking is my job. You wouldn’t want your horse to get a saddle sore, would you?”

“No.” Sam stroked her horse’s nose.

DJ picked up a front foot. “You didn’t pick this enough. See the manure caked here by the frog?”

Sam nodded. “It was too dark in there to see good.” DJ turned and gave her young pupil
the
look. She’d copied it from Bridget, who was a master at it.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Sam tied her horse and dug a pick out of her bucket. “You’d think . . .” She looked up at DJ and swallowed whatever else she’d been going to say. Her lower lip stuck out until she bit down on it. She checked each hoof before dumping the pick back into the bucket and leading her horse out to the arena.

“Ya did good.” DJ walked beside her. She knew what was going through Sam’s head. One time Bridget had caught her trying to rush. She’d never dared to do it again.

By the time the class was finished, the sun had baked any coolness out of the air. The girls got drinks at the fountain beside the barn, slung their saddlebags up behind their Western saddles, and tied them down with latigos.

DJ let them through the gate that led to the trails, Amy going first. Megs, saddled English for DJ, seemed glad to have a rider. She pricked her ears and picked up her feet to catch up. “Easy, girl. They won’t get away from us.”

Rising in her stirrups, DJ stretched her legs and hugged her shoulders up to her ears. If—she quickly corrected herself—
when
she had a horse of her own, she’d ride up here every week. Maybe when Joe got his cutting horse, they could ride together. Would Major like trail-riding?

Once inside the park, the shade up the trail felt like a cool blanket. DJ looked up to see a squirrel jump from one tree branch across the trail to another tree. He scolded them as though they’d invaded his kingdom.

“There’s another squirrel.” Angie, who rode in front of DJ, pointed to a particularly fat squirrel, the sunlight through the branches glinting off his red fur. He dropped bits from the pinecone he rotated in his paws, stuffing its nuts into already fat cheeks.

DJ and Angie let the others get ahead so they could keep watching the squirrel’s antics. He dropped the core of the cone and, flicking his tail, ran back up the branch and around the tree trunk.

“We had a squirrel nest in a tree in our backyard. Three babies. The mother yelled at us if we got too close.” Angie nudged her horse forward. “They’re all grown now. They come down to our deck for peanuts.”

“My grandpa used to tame squirrels, but we haven’t had any in our yard for a while. The neighbors cut down their tree and the squirrels left.” The two girls rode side by side. “You excited about the show tomorrow?”

“Scared. When I get too scared I throw up. What if I throw up tomorrow?” Angie shuddered. “I’ll just die. I know I will.”

They crested the top of the last hill and rode into the open meadow. Briones Crest Trail stalked the higher ridge off to their left. The green grass of spring had dried to straw, painting the hills in shades of tan and gold. Two black turkey vultures rode the thermals above them, seeming to drift without a flicker of feather.

“We riding to the top?” Amy called back. She and the other riders were trotting the fire road that curved around the meadow and up to the trail.

“ ’Course. We can eat when we come back down.” DJ nudged Megs into a canter. “Come on, Angie, let’s catch ’em.”

By the time they’d ridden to the top of the crest trail, where they watched a red fox slinking over the top of yet another hill, they were more than ready to eat.

“Wait a minute.” DJ hissed the command. “Stop.”

When all were silent, she pointed to a gentle hollow in a hill across the small valley. Three deer grazed as if they’d never before seen humans. One raised its head, big ears poised to catch any unusual sound. “Ohhh,” Angie breathed a sigh of delight. “They are so pretty.”

“The little one must be this year’s fawn,” Amy spoke softly, moving only her lips.

One of the horses tossed its head, the bit jangling loudly in the silence.

The other two deer raised their heads. With a single motion, they leaped the dirt bank and bounded up the hill. Once they disappeared over the crest, DJ nudged Megs forward.

“Come on, let’s go eat.”

They dismounted under some trees and, after removing their bridles, slipped on halters and tied their horses to low branches. While two girls used a fallen log for a chair, the rest sat cross-legged in the dead leaves and forest duff.

“Did you check for poison oak?” DJ finished inspecting everyone’s tie knots before joining them with the lunch out of her saddlebag.

“Yep, Amy did.” Angie leaned back against the log. She took a long drink from her water flask. “I could eat a bear.”

“Yuk.”

“Better’n eating a horse.”

“Angie!” The other girls groaned in unison.

For a time there was only the sound of munching. DJ crunched a carrot stick between bites of her sandwich. She and Amy swapped grins. This was about as good as it got.

“Just think, when you have Major next summer, maybe we can both go on the Sierra trip.” Amy leaned back on her elbows. “I think that would be the best thing ever.”

“How old do you have to be?” Sam looked up from digging for something in her saddlebag.

“Twelve, unless you have parents who can ride along.” DJ swatted at a yellow jacket that was exploring the top of her soda can. “Get out of here, bee.”

Angie ducked when it flew by her. “I wish my dad could take me. He says he loves to ride but just doesn’t have time.”

“Mine too.” Krissie put the lid back on her sandwich container. “Just think, riding every day for a whole week!”

“Camping out . . . cooking over a fire.”

“Ants in your food.” Amy brushed one of the tiny creatures off her hand. “They show up everywhere.” She ducked and shooshed the persistent yellow jacket away. “Beat it, buzzer.”

“Owww. Oh no!” Angie swatted at her hand.

“Did he sting you?” DJ felt her heart leap.

“Yes. DJ, help.” Angie scrambled to her feet. Eyes wide, her mouth an O. “Help me. I won’t be able to breathe!”