High Hurdles Collection Two (10 page)

In spite of a fuzzy head in the morning and the boys' constant questions, she remembered to take the drawing of Storm Clouds in to her art teacher.

“DJ, this is wonderful! You caught the imp in the foal, yet the tranquillity of the setting. Catching a feeling like this is difficult. You can be certain I am going to send this in to the competition.”

One of the other students looked over the teacher's shoulder. “All right, that's excellent.” Since seniors rarely said anything to freshmen, DJ blinked at him.

Any words that would have made some kind of sense fled. “Uh … uh …”
Kevin O'Conner, one of the nicest guys in this school, and that's all you can say? Come on, you can do better
. She swallowed and forced a “thanks” past a desert-dry throat. If her throat was as hot as her neck, she might break into flames any second.

“I'll make a copy and give this back to you. They said not to send the originals.”

DJ stared at the cuticle of her right thumb. As soon as she heard Kevin move off, she dared to look up again. “Okay.”

Mrs. Adams gave her a look that showed she understood. The flames heated up.

DJ fled to her stool and got out her still life.
Still life—that's me all right. Can't even be polite without swallowing my tongue
. After calling herself a couple more names, she took in a deep breath and let the air relax her shoulders. Tight as she was, she couldn't draw a curved line, let alone a straight one.

But the magic of pastels in her hands took her mind away from the boy wearing a red sweater sitting three rows behind her and over one stool. Soon she was lost in the drawing, in the coloring and the shading.

“You need to put your things away now,” Mrs. Adams said.

The announcement caught DJ totally unaware. She blinked as if waking from a nap and closed her drawing pad.
The handle on that pitcher still isn't quite right
, she thought as she left the room.

This was one of the few times in her life DJ was grateful to see an empty driveway. The house would be quiet. But when she looked in the mirror, she was glad her mother wasn't there for another reason. One look at her daughter's white face and black-circled eyes and there would be no time at the Academy.

Maybe I ought to start wearing makeup
, DJ thought as she changed into her work jeans and sweat shirt.
That would at least hide the circles
. She glanced toward the bed. If only she dared crawl into it for even fifteen minutes.

Instead, she slipped on her shoes and stopped at the refrigerator for an apple and a juice box, something new at their house. The boys liked juice boxes. DJ and Gran had been too ecologically conscious to want such things in the house.

At least they could recycle the soda cans.

She rolled her bike out of the garage and glanced up at the sky. Could rain, but then, maybe not. Ordering her legs and mind to get together, she pedaled down the street to Amy's and waved from the street.

Amy stuck her head out the door. “Gotta get my bike.”

DJ leaned her forehead on her hands at the center of the handlebars. She'd never tried sleeping on a bike before. But now even that might help.
You'd think you'd be getting stronger, not weaker
, the inner voice taunted her.

“Hey, DJ, wake up. Time to go to work.” Amy pedaled down the slanted drive and turned to head for the hill without stopping.

DJ pedaled after her. At the stop sign, just like yesterday, she had to pause for her breath to catch up with her. She'd left it somewhere around Amy's house.

Mrs. Johnson already had Patches out on the walker and was visiting with Bunny, otherwise known as Mrs. Lamond Ellsindorf, so DJ went on to Major's stall. During the short walk to the outside roof-only stalls, she played with the recurring questions about Bunny. Something about the woman bothered not only DJ but the other student workers, as well. No one could figure the newcomer out. Fit in she didn't.

DJ opened the web gate and entered Major's stall. “Clean already, boy. We got a good grandpa, huh?”

Major nodded and nosed her pockets for the treats. Ranger nickered, poking his nose over the highest bar, begging, too. She gave them each a carrot chunk, then using both brush-filled hands, gave Major a lightning-fast but thorough grooming. After brushing shavings out of his tail, she declared him ready for a ride. She and Major would have their own lesson— in jumping for a change—after her session with Mrs. Johnson.

“Feels like years since we jumped, doesn't it, fella?”

Major lipped another carrot off her palm and munched in her ear. She bent over and ran her hands down his front legs, feeling for the hot spot that had been there for so long now. Nothing.

“I'll tack him up now if you are ready for us.” Mrs. Johnson and Patches stopped in the aisle.

“Sure enough.” DJ straightened and gave the woman a quick smile. “Remember, it may still take some time to loosen him up.”

“I'm not so concerned about loosening him up as calming him down. He's such a show-off.” She dug in her pocket for a piece of horse cookie, Patches' favorite treat. As he munched, she stroked his nose, talking nonsense with him.

DJ smiled again. Women sure were suckers for their horses, herself included. In a couple of minutes, she headed for the arena, meeting Mrs. Johnson leading Patches. “If you want to mount up, I'll handle the gate.”

“Thank you, dear. I wasn't going to attempt that yet.”

“He's getting there. He just doesn't like to be rushed into new things. Takes his time getting used to them.” DJ swung the gate open, and Patches backed away. “Keep a firm hand on those reins and use your legs. Once he knows for sure you plan on being the boss, he'll knock it off.” DJ felt like crossing her fingers behind her back. She'd always shown him who was boss, and still he dumped her.

They moved to the end of the arena, and the pair began circling at a walk. Patches twitched his tail and laid back his ears once in a while but, other than that, shifted smoothly into a jog, then back to a walk.

When the other rider using the ring exited, DJ motioned Mrs. Johnson to use the entire ring. “Just keep him at an even jog on the rail. Take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth and relax your lower back.”

But at the far corner, Patches threw up his head. With one leap, he tore around the arena. Ears back, bit in his teeth, Patches looked to be running straight into the fence.

Chapter • 8

“Turn him into the center!”

Mrs. Johnson hauled on the reins, and Patches swung into circling the ring. All of the other riders moved their horses out of the ring to keep from being smashed into.

“The center. Rein him into the center!” DJ shouted to be heard but kept her voice even. Her heart felt like it was jumping out of her chest.

The whites of his eyes showing, Patches tore around the arena.

“Turn him into the center!”

Mrs. Johnson clung to the saddle horn with one hand. She pulled on the reins, but Patches ignored her.

Around again.

“Rein him tight into the center. Pull on the inside rein!” DJ could hear the other riders. When one said, “I'll go get her,” she was grateful to hear another tell him no.

God, help her hear me. Calm her, please. Calm me!
“Mrs. Johnson, rein Patches into the center of the arena!” DJ wanted to run to the rail and grab Patches' reins herself, but she knew she or Mrs. Johnson or all three of them could get hurt that way.
God, please keep her in the saddle
.

Patches circled the arena three times as DJ continued to call to his rider. Sweat dotted the horse's neck, foam flicked backward from his bit. He charged on.

“The inside rein. Turn him to the inside!” DJ felt like a broken record. When was that fool horse going to run out of steam? How long could he keep from running into the railings?

Mrs. Johnson let go of the saddle horn. She took the reins in both hands and pulled back on the inside rein as DJ ordered once again. Pulled into the tighter circle, Patches slowed. He came to a shuddering stop only three feet from DJ.

DJ grabbed the reins right under the horse's chin. She wanted to beat him over the head with anything she could pick up—maybe a two-by-four would get through his thick skull. Calling him every name she could think of in her mind, she looked up at the white-faced rider. “Why don't you relax now and get your breath?”

“Way to go, Mrs. J,” one of the other riders called. “You just made it through every rider's nightmare.”

“You showed him who's boss!”

At DJ's signal, the other riders moved off. She waited.

Mrs. Johnson still clung to the saddle horn. Her hands were shaking so badly she could hardly reach up to wipe away the tears.

“I … I'm s-s-sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. The idiot here spooked at nothing and got away with it.”

Patches stood, sides heaving, nostrils flared so they glowed red. He snorted, blowing snot and foam all over DJ's arm.

“Thanks, Patches, as if you haven't done enough.” DJ talked to the horse, knowing Mrs. Johnson needed some time to recover.

Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Johnson straightened her back and patted Patches' neck. “If I
never
do that again, it will be too soon.” She shook her head. “I let myself get in too much of a rush and didn't leave him on the hot walker as long as you suggested. This is all my own fault.”

“But you learned something.” DJ could hear Bridget's words coming out of her own mouth.

Mrs. Johnson nodded and sighed again. “Why do I always have to learn the hard way?”

Knowing she didn't expect an answer, DJ smiled.
How come I always learn that way, too?
She'd often asked Gran that same question.

“Well, I guess I better put him away for now.” Mrs. Johnson gave DJ a look stuffed full of appeal.

DJ shook her head. “Nope, now we finish the lesson.”

“You're kidding, right?”

DJ shook her head again. “Bridget's rules. Unless you are too broken to do so, you get back on and get over the fear right now.”

“Why, it … it's not fear, it's just th-that I …” The woman stared at DJ. “You mean it, don't you?”

“Yup. Really, it's the best way.”
What if she refuses?
Since this was DJ's first adult student, she tried to stay cool. If Mrs. Johnson said “no way,” what could she do? Tell Bridget?

Shaking her head, the woman gathered her reins, shot DJ a dirty look, and shoved her foot in the stirrup. Patches never twitched a hair as she swung aboard. “What now, sergeant?”

DJ swallowed a grin. “You walk around the ring once, then I'll signal you to a jog. We'll just see how Patches behaves.”

Patches played the part of model horse for the rest of the lesson.

DJ drew in a deep sigh of relief. What would she have done if …

“You did well,
ma petite
,” Bridget said from the railing after Mrs. Johnson took Patches back to the barn. “Level head, level voice. You kept everyone calm.”