High Hurdles Collection Two (13 page)

“Rhonda Samson, I want you to meet DJ Randall,” Bridget said when DJ joined the trio by the trailer. “She will be training Omega for you, like I said.”

“Glad to meet you,” DJ said, her manners securely in place. She shook hands with a round ball of a woman who looked as if she could be bounced across the parking lot by any NBA player. Her smile and the twinkle in her turquoise eyes told DJ they could be friends from the get-go.

“She looks kind of young,” Mr. Samson said to Bridget after greeting DJ.

“Age and ability do not always go together. DJ has turned two green broke horses into good riding partners, and I know she will do the same again.”

“Well, if you say so.” He turned to begin unlatching the trailer.

The woman shook her head. “Don't pay any attention to him, DJ. He wanted me to buy an old plug, thought it might be safer.”

Her teasing tone made DJ even more certain Rhonda would be a great addition to the Academy. “So what did you get?”

“A three-year-old half-Arab, half-Quarter Horse filly. If I had the time, I'd train her myself, even though I haven't ridden for ten years.”

“At least.” The mustached man lowered the trailer ramp.

“Come on, Bob, you're just jealous because I didn't buy a Sea-Doo like you wanted.”

Bridget and DJ exchanged raised eyebrow looks.

“So how much training has she had?”

“None, but she's been handled a lot so she is gentle.”

It took all of DJ's willpower not to look at her watch.
Come on, I have to leave. You want me to be grounded for the rest of my life?

Bob fussed with the tailgate a little more before Rhonda walked in and, untying the horse, backed a chestnut filly down the ramp. The horse picked up her feet like a ballerina, almost dancing down the incline. Her coat glinted in the sun, even with the winter coarseness. A white blaze ran from her upper lip clear to her ears, disappearing under a thick forelock.

“She's a beauty,” DJ said, walking around to check the other side.

“And smart as a whip.” Rhonda stroked the horse's neck. “Won't take you long to get her in shape, I don't think. Meantime, I'll take English lessons from Bridget. I always rode Western before, but if you're going to have a dream come true, you might as well have it all.”

Bob slammed the gate back in place and dusted off his hands. “I'll move the trailer while you take her to her stall.” He glanced at his watch. “Then we gotta hit the road. I'm late already.”

DJ checked her watch. “Oh, fiddle. Sorry I can't go with you, but I need to get home.”

“I had hoped to see you work with her a bit. …” Rhonda looked at her husband and made a face. “All right, I can tell when I'm being ganged up on.”

“Sorry.” DJ could hear her mother already. She turned and ran for her bike. At least she had taken a shower before she left home. She hoped washing would get rid of the horse smell or she'd get growled at for that, too. She threw her leg over the seat when the thought hit her.
Patches! Major!
They were both still on the hot walker.

She dropped her bike and headed back to the stalls. “Joe, could you please bring Major and Patches in from the hot walker? I'm late!”

“Sure 'nough, kid. You want a ride home?”

DJ shook her head. “I can ride it almost as fast as you can get the truck out. Thanks, I owe you one!” She called the last of the sentence over her shoulder as she jogged out of the aisle. She'd have gone at a dead run, but Bridget forbade running in the barns.

The twins were already in the car when DJ pedaled up the street.

Chapter • 10

DJ hit the kitchen door at 10:29. “I'll hurry!” she said before her mother could get in a word. The look on Lindy's face already said more than DJ wanted to hear.

Robert shut the hatch on the Bronco as DJ charged out the front door. “Perfect timing, DJ. Did you bring a jacket? Could be cold over there.”

DJ waved her fleece-lined Windbreaker. She climbed in the second seat, where the boys were already buckled in. “Hi, guys.”

“We was waiting.” The B closest to her handed her the left half of the seat belt. “You gotta buckle up.”

“I know.” DJ tousled the boy's hair, then clamped the belt in place. She could hear Robert and Lindy talking in low tones at the rear of the vehicle.
Come on, Mom, I wasn't that late. Lighten up. And besides, there was nothing I could do about it. You always said I have to be polite
. At the reminder of the reason she was late, she thought again of the filly Omega. She would be fun to break. The second thought wasn't nearly as pleasant.
How will I find time to do all of this?

The boys fell asleep in the car on the way home, and DJ did the same not long after. The next words she heard were Robert's, “Let's just order in pizza.”

DJ kept her eyes closed—opening them took more energy than she could dig up at the moment. They
had
had a good time. She could feel a grin coming on as she remembered lunch. She and the boys had been setting the hot dogs out on a round table with a blue umbrella while Robert went back for napkins and Lindy used the rest room.

DJ had turned away to look at something for one second when one of the twins let out a shriek. She turned back just in time to see a sea gull lift off with one of the hot dogs in his beak.

“He took my lunch!” The B flapped his arms at the bird.

Hearing the boy shriek, Robert charged back. “What happened?”

“The bird took my hot dog!” Bobby—or Billy—pointed to a circle of squawking and fighting sea gulls, one of which had the hot dog. Two others now squabbled over the bun. “Get it, Dad.”

“I'll get you another one.” Robert's laugh rang out. The boys looked at him, at DJ, who was trying to keep from hooting, over to the birds, and back.

“Bad birds!” the boys shouted together.

“You can have half of mine,” the twin who had kept his hands over his lunch said.

“Here, you take mine, and I'll get another.” Still laughing and watching the hot dog disappear down the bird's gullet, DJ handed her basket across the table.

“Thanks, DJ.” Robert took some money from his wallet and handed it to her.

“Now, you guys hang on to your food.” In a flash, both boys put their hands over their plates. “That's one smart bird.” DJ shook her head, laughing her way over to the concession stand.

Even now, she could hardly keep from laughing. While her mother had missed all the action, she had thought it funny, too.

That evening after they'd devoured the pizza, DJ sat on the sofa with a boy tucked under each arm and read both
Horton Hears a Who
and
The Cat in the Hat
. They giggled at her different voices for the different animals and chanted some of the lines with her.

“Thank you, God, for my family,” DJ whispered that night when she'd turned the light out. “And thank you for such a cool day.” Those sea gulls, the boys shrieking, them all laughing—maybe this family thing wasn't going to be so bad after all.

Monday afternoon Bridget posted an announcement for a jumping clinic to be held at Wild Horse Ranch in the Napa Valley the second Saturday in April. Hilary Jones stopped right behind DJ as she studied the poster.

“Think you'll go?” the older girl asked.

“Sure want to. What about you?” DJ looked over her shoulder. “Hey, I like your hair that way.”

Hilary wore her dark hair in dozens of thin braids, each ending in a row of colorful beads.

“Did you do it yourself?”

Hilary shook her head. “It takes hours at the beauty parlor. And, yes, I'm already registered. You notice who's teaching? Lendon Gray. I wouldn't miss seeing him for the world.”

“Don't you ever have to ask if you can go to things like this?” DJ knew the poster hadn't been up the day before.

“Not really. My parents know how badly I want to become an internationally known rider. If we don't already have something important planned, I just write a check and register. I keep the important things in my calendar so I know what's going on.”

“You have your own checking account?”

“Sure. I've had one for a couple of years now. My dad deposits my allowance in it, then I put in any money I earn. Dad said it was important for me to learn how to manage my money now 'cause one day I'm going to have a lot to manage.”

DJ knew that money wasn't a problem in Hilary's family, but she didn't think they were that wealthy. “How so?”

“He really believes I'm going to make it into the big time. He's got my promotional campaign all worked out. Got my name on cereal boxes and all kinds of things. I'm not sure I believe all of that, but you've got to have a dream, like Bridget says.”

DJ stuck her hands in her back jeans pockets. “I close my eyes, and I can see myself at the Olympics.”

“Me too. We'll be on the team together, you just watch.”

The flower of desire unfurled in DJ's heart region. “I want it so much.” The words came out more as a prayer than just a thought.

Hilary stuck out her hand. “We'll make Bridget proud.”

DJ took Hilary's hand, her skin golden against the mahogany of Hilary's, both hands strong with hard work and determination. The warm clasp made her think of them as more like sisters than friends. She looked up to read the same feeling in Hilary's dark eyes.

The moment hung, like a horse and rider in flight, held up by air and determination alone.

“Together.”

Hilary nodded. “Together.”

Was that what the Apache had felt when they joined as blood brothers? The question played in DJ's mind on the way back to the barn. Gran called moments like these miracle moments. Couldn't times like that be a teeny peek into what God had in store for them?

Today she'd put Patches on the hot walker and start with Omega. What fun it would be to find out what kind of personality the filly had and if she was as smart and sweet as her owner said. DJ stopped in the tack room for a grooming bucket. She'd better get a move on or Andrew would be ready before she was.

Amy sat on the bench, her saddle beside her as she cleaned one saddle skirt. “How come these can get so dirty with a cover over them?” She dug her rag into the flat can of saddle soap.

“Got me. One good thing about riding English, the saddles have less leather to clean. Do you already have all your stalls done?”

Amy shook her head. “No wheelbarrow. One's got a flat tire, and Tony's using the other.”

“Tony? He's cleaning more than just his horse's stall?”

“Yep, Tony. Guess he wanted or needed extra money, and now he's cleaning and grooming. Just like the rest of us poor slaves. Other than those who teach, like you know who.”

“Yeah, as if I really miss mucking stalls. You can always do my saddle when you get done with yours.”

“Your Crosby?”

“Get real. I'm only gonna use that in shows, other than enough to get used to it.”