High Hurdles Collection Two (19 page)

“Hurry, DJ!” The boys nearly ran over her on her way up the stairs. “We gotta wash so we can go.”

At the new house, Robert opened the front door and ushered them inside. “I think we'll start upstairs—”

“With the boys' room,” the twins chimed.

“You can at least
act
pleased!” Lindy hissed directly into DJ's ear after Robert had shown them DJ's room with the Jacuzzi tub. Robert and the boys had gone downstairs ahead of them.

“I said thanks.”

“Your gratitude leaves a
lot
to be desired.” Lindy strode down the stairs at Robert's call.

No matter what I do, it's not good enough for her
. DJ followed the others, hearing the boys calling and laughing at each new thing. They jumped down the stairs into the sunken living room and ran back up the stairs to their bedroom next to a big playroom. Robert had told them about the places for games and a railroad track and playhouse fort. They laughed and shouted, falling down on the thick carpet and calling to DJ to come play.

“Later, guys.”

DJ felt overwhelmed by her room. It was everything she could dream of, but the questions the designer asked were beyond her. What color did she want? Could she please choose some wallpaper she liked for the bathroom? Did she want vertical blinds or horizontal? Sheesh. DJ would rather clean out horse stalls. At least she knew what looked good there.

And her mother thought she didn't appreciate it. That wasn't it at all. How would DJ ever live up to such a great room?

“Can you drop me off at the Academy on the way home?” DJ asked when they were back in the car.

“No, I think it's time the three of us have a good long talk.” Robert glanced at Lindy, who nodded back. “You can go over after that.”

“Maybe.” Lindy's one word set DJ's teeth on edge.
Are they going to take this Saturday away from me, too?

Back home with the boys watching a video, Robert herded both Lindy and DJ into the dining room. “Okay, let's talk.”

DJ wanted nothing more than to head for the Academy. She'd rather talk with Major any day. He, at least, understood her.

Once they were seated, Robert turned to DJ. “Now, why did you take on more to do when you are already busier than two normal people?”

“Well, Bunny asked me if I would exercise her jumper for a week while she goes back to the East Coast. I said she should ask Hilary or Tony since they are such good jumpers, but she insisted I do it. So I said yes. He'd be fun to ride, kind of like riding Herndon. Besides, she's going to pay me twice what I earn for lessons.” She looked toward her mother. “It's only for a week, and since I can't ride Major, I thought—”

“I thought that time was to be spent on your algebra.”

DJ flinched. “Look, no matter how much time I spend on that garbage, I'll never understand it. I hate algebra, and I didn't want to take it in the first place.”

“Watch your attitude.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You need upper-level math classes to get into college. You have to fulfill the entrance requirements.”

“But what if I—”

“Do you really need money that badly?” Robert interrupted.

DJ nodded. “I just got Major shod, and he needs a new show blanket, plus worming and extra feed as we work toward another show. All that and the show fees and stuff you forget you need. Horses are really expensive.”

“Which is why you have to have some kind of training to support yourself. Your artistic ability might be able to do that once you get through college.”

“Mom, I'm in the ninth grade. I'm not ready to choose a college yet.” DJ spoke through gritted teeth.
And besides, who says I want to go to college at all?

“What happened to the money from your card sales and the portraits?” Lindy asked.

DJ flinched again. “I … I haven't finished all the portraits. I have two to go, and one lady is getting upset at the wait.” She lowered her voice, mumbling the words, hoping her mother and Robert would drop the subject. “I was planning on doing them this afternoon. If I can ever get back over to the Academy.”

“So your grades are slipping, the work you agreed to do isn't finished, and you've turned down the honors art class.”

DJ half rose from her chair. “But I almost never miss school, and most of my grades are okay. I never claimed to be a brain. I teach riding five afternoons a week, train two horses for other people, and train and support my own horse.”

“And what's more important?” Lindy straight-armed the table so the two stood nose to nose.

“To you or to me?”

“Okay, let's cool off again.” Robert slapped his hands flat on the table.

DJ slumped back down in her chair, arms locked over her chest and one ankle resting on the opposite knee. She studied the seam on the inside of her jeans.
And this isn't helping. You're wasting my valuable time
. She glanced at her watch without appearing to. If only she dared to just leave the room.

“Can I go now?”

Robert shook his head. “How about if I help you with your algebra?”

“Dear, you're so busy now, you—”

“I know, but this is more important. I'll work it out somehow.”

“It'd only waste your time.”
And mine
.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“Whatever.” DJ sneaked a peek at her mother. Lindy didn't look to be any more of a believer in this scheme than her daughter.

At the Academy later that afternoon, DJ and Amy pulled a hay bale into the sunshine at the front door and sat down to clean tack. “Robert's going to help me with algebra.”

“That's cool.”

“What a waste.”

“Darla Jean Randall, if you'd quit thinking and talking like you can't— you know Bridget doesn't allow that word around here. If you'd think ‘I can' like you do with everything else, you could even do algebra.”

“Yeah, right, and pigs can fly.”

“Don't be so pigheaded stubborn. You know I'm right.” Amy thumped DJ on the leg. “If I can put up with braces, you can do algebra.”

Was she just being pigheaded like Amy said?

That evening after the algebra session with Robert, she stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom. “I can do algebra.” She repeated the phrase three more times for good measure, then went to her desk and wrote ten times,
I can do algebra
. In big, bold letters, she added:
I, DJ Randall, will never use “I can't” around algebra again!
She signed her name with a flourish.

Between muttering “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” and “I can do algebra,” DJ caught the twins watching her with funny expressions on their faces.
They think I'm going nutsy. I probably am!

“Bridget, do you have a couple of minutes?” DJ stopped in the doorway of the Academy office Tuesday afternoon.

Bridget looked up from her paper work and, with a smile, pushed her glasses up on her forehead. “Of course. You do not look happy. How can I help you?”

If only you knew
. DJ stopped in front of the paper-stacked desk. “It's about Patches and Mrs. Johnson.”

Bridget nodded for her to go on.

“I think Patches is just too much horse for her right now. He needs an experienced rider, someone who can make him mind and not be bullied by him. Every time she shifts her concentration, he—”

Bridget nodded. “I know, he takes off or tries to dump his rider.”

“And sometimes succeeds.” DJ knew Bridget could enjoy the joke since the only other person whom Patches had dumped was DJ herself.

“This is truly a hard situation.” Bridget rose from her chair and paced the floor. “You think she should sell him?”

“Yes. Before she gets hurt.”

“She is not a bad rider.”

“I know, but she would enjoy riding more if she could trust her horse.”

“She did all right with the school horse.”

“See.”

“When is her next lesson with Patches?”

DJ glanced at her watch. “In a half hour.”

“I will talk with her after the lesson. Is there anything else?”

DJ nodded. “I'd like to try Andrew with the girls' class. I think he'll have more fun there. He already knows them, and they cheer him on.”

“Good idea. You want to tell his mother today?”

DJ left the office and headed for the barn. Omega would be cooled off enough to put away now. She sure hoped Mrs. Johnson had put Patches on the hot walker like she was supposed to. He wasn't out there when DJ had clipped Omega on.

Patches acted as if he'd never misbehaved a day in his entire life. He did everything Mrs. Johnson asked of him and acted as if he were having a good time, too.

He kept on the rail, for once not trying to rub off his rider on it. He changed gaits without an extra step and jogged along like he'd been doing it for years. DJ breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she'd been wrong about him and spoken to Bridget too soon.

“Go ahead with a figure eight now, keeping that lope at the same speed. I want you to signal him to change leads at the apex of the eight so he goes into the circle on the inside lead.” She looked up at Mrs. Johnson, who nodded with a smile.

“He is behaving so well today. You must have been feeding him ‘nice' pills.”

“Believe me, if I had such a thing, he'd have been getting them all along.” DJ stroked Patches' nose. “Huh, fella?” Patches rubbed his forehead against her black sweat shirt, leaving white hairs from his star behind. “Okay, there you go, now.”

The first figure eight went almost perfectly, with Patches missing the lead changes by only a stride or two.

“Be more definite in your aids, leg especially.”

Mrs. Johnson nodded, concentrating on her horse.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, DJ saw a flash of white. A white cat streaked across the arena, dodging horse hooves.

Patches reared and hit the ground at a dead run. At the fence he swerved, a hard right, leaving Mrs. Johnson to catapult straight into the lower railing.

Chapter • 16

“Don't move her.” Joe knelt beside the unconscious woman.

“What happened?” Mrs. Johnson blinked her eyes and moved one hand.

“Patches threw you, and you hit the aluminum rail.” Joe's voice came slow and gentle.

It's all my fault I should have ended the lesson sooner
. DJ knelt on the other side, holding Mrs. Johnson's hand when the woman grasped hers.

“Your eyes look okay. Do you hurt in any one spot more than another?”

“My right arm. I think it's broken. I can't move my fingers.” When Joe touched it, the woman groaned.

“We better call 9-1-1,” Bridget said softly.

DJ didn't realize she was even there.

“No, don't be silly. For a broken arm?” Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “Hey, I've been a nurse for ten years, folks. I am not going into that hospital in an ambulance for a broken arm.” She gave Joe a pleading look. “I would know if I were broken somewhere else.” She extended her left hand. “Help me sit up, and we'll use my jacket as a sling. Do you think you could drive me to either emergency or urgent care?”