High Hurdles Collection Two (23 page)

Joe snapped upright, slamming the fridge door. “Not her fault you let your grades fall—and don't be a smart mouth. It doesn't sound or look good on you.”

DJ at least had the grace to look ashamed. “Sorry.”
But it's true
, she thought.
My mother is more interested in the twins than me most of the time. And she's rabid about my grades. All because of that stupid algebra
. And now Joe was on her case, too. She hunched her shoulders. Why couldn't she learn to keep her mouth shut?

Waving good-bye to Gran, she followed Joe out to the forest green Explorer.

“So what brought that up?” Joe turned the ignition, and the Explorer's engine roared to life.

“What?” DJ assumed her most innocent expression.

“Don't give me that.” The sound of his voice more than his words told her he'd kicked into policeman mode. And as he'd often said, he'd been a master interrogator during his days with the force.

And still was.

“I don't know.”

“Sure you do—just think about it. You and your mother must have gotten into it again.”

“Come on, Joe. When don't we?”

“And you'd never exaggerate, either, would you?” He flipped the turn signal.

“Me? Never.”

He turned into the driveway of Briones Riding Academy, where they both stabled their horses and DJ taught beginning riding, trained a rowdy gelding, and took lessons in both jumping and dressage.

When she started to open the door, Joe stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Isn't the algebra coaching with Robert helping any?”

“Not much.” DJ looked up at him, shaking her head. “How come I'm so dumb in math when I can get pretty good grades in about everything else?”

“You're not dumb. And I don't ever want to hear you say so again. But some people do seem to have a block in some areas. You are good with words and are an incredible artist—that comes from the creative side of the brain, the right side. Math comes from the left side, the analytical side, and that's not where your strengths lie. But sticking with the math will help develop that area.”

“GJ, I even pray about the problems before I do them, but God doesn't seem to be listening—or else He doesn't care if I do algebra, either.”

DJ's fingernails screamed to be chewed. She tucked them under her thighs for safekeeping.

“Oh, He cares all right. What lessons do you suppose He is trying to teach you?”

DJ wrinkled her nose. “Can I think about that? I gotta get Patches on the hot walker.”

“Sure 'nough.” He removed the keys from the ignition. “I'll groom Major for you. Ranger can wait his turn.” Ranger was the Quarter Horse gelding Joe had bought with the dream of someday entering cutting competitions.

“Thanks.” DJ bailed from the sport utility vehicle as if bloodhounds were after her. That man could drive her nuts with his questions. Did he always have to be right?

She stopped in the office long enough to check the duty board, even though she knew exactly what she had to do. Sure enough, Amy was cleaning stalls on the south aisle of the low red barn. They hadn't ridden home from school together since Amy had been to the orthodontist to get her braces tightened. But DJ knew if she stopped to talk with Amy now, she wouldn't get to see Major until all her work was done.

She opted for Major. As soon as he heard her voice, he nickered. When she didn't answer, he whinnied.

“What a welcome!” DJ plugged her ears as she jogged toward him. Another horse whinnied, then others. Whinnying was as catching as a yawn.

“You big goof, what's with you?” She hid both hands behind her back. When he nudged an arm, she palmed the carrot for him. “Had to work for it, didn'tcha?” He nosed her other arm and got half a horse cookie.

DJ wrapped both arms around his neck and squeezed, earning slobber in her ear for the effort.

“You are the very, very, very best horse any girl could ever own.”

He flicked his ears back and forth and whiskered her cheek, bathing her in carrot- and molasses-laden horse breath.

She scratched the spot between his ears that he especially liked, then gave him a pat on the nose and stepped away. “Back in a while. Got to get to work.”

He nickered as she left, making her want to stay with him even more.

If only she could ride him. Would her mother
never
let her off restrictions? And all because of two lousy Cs on her report card, one a C minus in algebra.

While Patches, the young gelding she trained for Mrs. Johnson, kept the hot walker squealing in protest at his fits and starts, DJ gathered his tack and took it back to his stall. She tossed out some newly dirtied shavings and dug a hoof-pick out of the grooming bucket. Patches nickered when she came for him, tossing his head and striking out with one front hoof.

“Oh great. Who poured extra energy in
your
feed?”

He nickered again and nuzzled her pockets when she got close enough. She pushed his nose away and unhooked the lead shank from the hot walker. Snapping her own lead in place, she led him back to the barn.

“Knock it off,” she ordered when he bumped her with his shoulder the second time. She jerked on his lead shank and planted her feet. “Now, listen here, pea brain, you are not going to act up today. You are going to behave yourself, you hear?”

Patches wore his “who me?” look. He shook his head, then all over, his mane flying as if a wind had blown through. He snorted again, rubbed his forehead on her shoulder, and blew.

“Are you finished?” She had a hard time keeping from laughing. “You are such a ham.”

She kept up a running commentary while she groomed him and picked his hooves. He didn't even puff up his belly when she cinched the saddle. “Uh-oh, don't tell me you gave up on being a brat.”

Patches behaved for the entire lesson.

“You know, if you acted like this for your owner, she wouldn't be walking around with a broken arm.”

“And
she
would be riding instead of you.” Bridget Sommersby, owner of Briones Riding Academy and DJ's coach and friend, leaned on the aluminum fence that wrapped around the covered arena.

DJ rode over to the rail. “He looks good, doesn't he?”

“He does, thanks to you. But I do agree with what you have been telling me. He is too much horse for Mrs. Johnson. She needs an animal she can have fun riding, not have to watch every minute. Thank God she was not seriously injured the other day.”

“I hate to see him go.” DJ patted Patches' neck. “Maybe if I'd—”

“Do not finish what you are thinking. You have done all you can with this guy.” Bridget stroked Patches' nose. “Given six more months with you, he might settle down, but he might need a couple more years, too. In all honesty, we cannot take that chance.”

“Do you know of a good horse that might suit her?”

“No, but I am sure we will find one. Andrew does not need all this stress, either.” Andrew was Mrs. Johnson's eight-year-old son, who was working hard to overcome his fear of horses. His mother's accident had sent him into a panic.

Bridget looked up at DJ. “And you,
ma petite, are
not to blame yourself in any way for this not working out. You did your best, and your best was very good. Do you hear me?”

DJ bit her bottom lip and nodded. A compliment like that from Bridget was rare enough to make it shine like gold in the sun. And the order was unmistakable. She bit back the
but
and nodded again. “Thank you.”

“We will talk with her together.” Bridget started to turn away and looked over her shoulder. “How long until you are off restrictions?”

“I don't know. Mom said until my grades come up, and I flunked the last algebra test.”

“That is not good.” Bridget stroked her forefinger along her jawbone. “And you are working with a tutor?”

DJ nodded. “My fa—” She stumbled over the word
father
. “Robert. But we just started.”

“You can accomplish this.” Bridget held up a hand. DJ knew it meant no excuses. Bridget didn't tolerate excuses. “Anyone as stubborn as you can do anything she sets her mind to.”

DJ hugged those words to her heart as she put Patches away. Her new father had said the same thing.

But what if you can't?
a little voice inside her head sneered.
You might never ride Major again. And then you might just as well forget about the Olympics
.

Chapter • 2

“I'm afraid I have some bad news.” Robert Crowder looked around at his family gathered at the dinner table that evening.

“What is that, dear?” Lindy continued cutting up pork chops for the five-year-old twins, Bobby and Billy.

“It looks like moving day is delayed—again.”

The boys groaned, making a big deal out of it as usual.

In DJ's opinion, they did nothing quietly, even sleep. She looked up at Robert. “What happened?”

“The inspector found some problems with the garage door. …”

“So? We don't live in the garage.” The words popped out before she had time to think.

Bobby—or was it Billy?—giggled beside her. DJ groaned along with the two boys, one on either side of her. The only time she could tell Bobby and Billy apart was when one wore a bandage. She was tempted to apply one with super-bond, forever-permanent glue.

“I sure wish it were that simple. But there's more.”

DJ studied his face across the table. Robert looked tired—not sleepy but worn out. Bags under his blue eyes were not the norm, nor was the gray color of his skin.

Lindy handed the boys their plates and turned to her husband. “You said there's more.”

He nodded. “Ummm. Maria can't come out yet. The doctor says she needs more rest before coming back to work.” Maria Ramos had cared for the twins as nanny since their mother died two years earlier. A bad case of pneumonia had struck while Lindy and Robert were on their honeymoon, and Maria still hadn't fully recovered.

Now it was Lindy's turn to groan. “And I have to leave for that conference in Chicago day after tomorrow. I can't put that off. It wouldn't be so bad, but Mother and Joe are going to Los Angeles the same day, so they can't help out, either. What are we going to do?” She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. “I was counting on Maria's coming back.”

Robert sighed. “I know. But we'll figure out something.”

DJ concentrated on her food.
Please don't ask me to watch the boys after school. I have to work, too
.

“Let's discuss it later. DJ, how was school?”

She shrugged. She figured he meant algebra since he'd started coaching her a few days before. Might as well get the bad news over quick. “I flunked the test.”

“What is flunked?” the twin on her right asked.

“Is it bad?” asked the other.

She couldn't bring herself to look Robert in the face. “Sorry.”

“That means we'll just have to work harder.” He shook his head when she looked up at him. “No, don't even think it. There is no way you are getting out of algebra, and you are not having trouble because you are stupid or dumb. I've been giving this some thought, and I believe your teacher just hasn't explained things in a way you understand.”

“Ain't that the truth,” DJ muttered under her breath.

“Darla Jean.” The warning came from her mother. Use of her full name meant DJ had better keep her mouth shut. If only she could shut off her mind as easily.

“Do you ask questions in class?” Robert wiped his mouth with his napkin.

DJ shook her head.

“Why not?”

It was DJ's turn to sigh. “I don't know. I guess by the time I've got a question other than ‘huh?' figured out, he's on to something else and I feel like an idiot for being so slow.”

“Okay.” Robert nodded and spoke at the same time. “How about if we have a parent/teacher/pupil conference? See if we can get some help.”

DJ felt like saying “Oh goody,” but this time she wisely kept her comment to herself. The little voice in her head reminded her,
I thought you said you were going to whup algebra? You better show some enthusiasm here
.

“Daddy, so when we gonna move?”

“We wants a pony.”

Saved by the twins. Sometimes they did come in handy.

The discussion switched to furniture being lost somewhere in Kansas; DJ wondered if the twister that took Dorothy to the Land of Oz had snatched their new furniture. She zoned out, and in her mind she took Major over the jumps, a perfect round with an audience applauding and cheering her on.

“DJ!” She came back to the present with a thump. The voice calling her name certainly wasn't coming from a loudspeaker.

“Huh?”

“I asked you a question.” Her mother's voice dripped icicles.

DJ looked up at her mother. “Sorry.” A glance at Robert's face showed him studying her. One eyebrow raised when he caught her glancing at him.