High Hurdles Collection Two (41 page)

Jackie took the seat in front of DJ. “At least you didn't fall off.” She said that just after the rider in the ring took a nose dive to the collective gasps of the audience.

“Pretty close.” But she didn't say more, knowing that Bridget would turn and give her a
look
.

“I can remember the time my horse took off on me in the ring. I thought I would die of embarrassment.”

“You should have seen her face. She was so mad, she was steaming. Lobster red, she was,” Brad said with a chuckle.

Another rider entered the ring. Bridget had already identified him as one of the better riders in the area.

“Watch his hands,” Bridget said.

DJ concentrated on his hands and …“He's behind.” The horse ticked a rail that wobbled and stayed in place.

The flashy bay ran out at the next jump.

He finished the circuit, but the pair exited the ring with no chance of a ribbon.

“Now, what did you learn?” Bridget turned to DJ.

“He was having a bad day?”

“Could be. What else?”

“He made some mistakes. He dropped him and the horse ran out.” “It happens to all of us, DJ. You have a choice. Keep beating on yourself, or let it go and put what you learned to work for the next show.” “Amen to that,” Jackie added.

“That Bridget has a good head on her shoulders,” Joe said on the way home.

“Umm.”

“You're not very talkative.”

DJ knew she had to throw it off. “I feel like I let Major down.”

“Okay. That's a feeling, and you're entitled to your feelings. But that doesn't mean that's the whole truth.”

“I know. But I hate messing up.”

“Don't we all?”

The silence stretched again.

“Those girls in the stalls next to us were meaner than—”

“I know. I saw what was happening.”

“As if they were perfect. They've got perfect horses and—”

Joe cut her off. “You'll meet those kind of people everywhere. Just have to learn to not let them bother you.”

“I wanted to
bother
them, all right, with a two-by-four.”

Joe chuckled. “Now,
that
would have made your grandmother proud.”

“Wish she could have come today.”

“Me too, but she couldn't leave that painting. They wanted it a week ago.”

“I know.” But still she missed Gran. It seemed like they never got time together anymore.

A few miles passed before Joe asked, “Did you hear the good news?”

DJ roused herself from a half sleep. “What?”

“Andy's buying your old house.”

“Really?”

“Shawna wanted to come today, but they're getting their house ready for sale.”

“Good.”

But the heavy feeling hung on, no matter how DJ tried to talk herself out of it. If only she could go back, go home again. Yes, she wanted to jump in the Olympics, and yes, she would keep going, but … The
but
stopped her.

“Are you moping?” Lindy asked on Tuesday night. “Feeling sorry for yourself?”

“I don't think so,” DJ said, turning from studying the green of the hills as they drove. “It's like I've got to work this thing out in my head.”

“Well, you let me know if I can help.”

“Okay.” She wasn't sure she had done her best; that was part of it. And the feeling of rushing, like she'd rushed that jump. And wanting to go back. Life in her old house seemed easier in her memory. She had even pulled out her old bedspread, but it didn't look right on the new bed.

When they handed out midterm reports on Thursday, she was afraid to look at hers. She couldn't go back on restrictions. Her mother wouldn't do that, would she? After DJ had been trying and trying so hard?

“So what'd you get?”

“Haven't looked.”

“Darla Jean Randall, what am I going to do with you? Give me your report card.” Amy held out her hand.

DJ dug it out of the front pocket of her pack and handed the envelope over.

Amy looked at it, shrugged, and handed it back. “Guess that B minus in algebra will keep your mom happy.”

DJ snatched the report back and read down the line. Four
A
s, one A minus, and the B minus in algebra. She felt like running across the parking lot screaming and dancing. “Guess it will.” The two swapped high fives.

Since no one was home when she got there, she changed and rode her bike over to the Academy. The new way was much shorter than the other, but she missed the time she and Amy used to have together.

After her workout, for some reason she turned right and headed back the way to the old house. Amy's mother had picked her up, so they couldn't even ride together.

The grass had been mowed at their house. And a new coat of paint brightened the outside. She put her key in the lock and opened the door.

The house smelled empty. She crossed the family room and looked out at the backyard. The gardeners had been there, too. A row of red tulips nodded in the twilight.

She turned and headed up the stairs to her old room. Halfway up she stopped and backed down to look where Gran's wing chair used to sit. She could close her eyes and feel herself sitting on the floor at Gran's knee. Gran would stroke her hair and share a Bible verse with her.

DJ sucked in a deep breath. Now Gran lived with Joe. Would she give up Joe to go back?

“No way!” She shook her head and continued up to her old room. It was so small. Well, not really, but compared to her new one it was. She sat down on the floor, back against the wall where her desk used to sit. Arms on her knees, she waited. For what, she wasn't sure.

But it remained an empty room. Not her old room, but an empty room in an empty house.

Something she'd heard once,
“You can't go back,”
now made sense.

It wasn't the same. The house wasn't it at all. It was just a house now, not her home. It would be a good home for her cousin Shawna. She'd like this room.

DJ stood and jogged back down the stairs. She locked the door behind her and pedaled back up the hill and down past the Academy, around the bend, and into the driveway. Putting her bike away in the garage, she hummed a tune under her breath as she entered the back door.

“Where've you been?” Lindy looked up from breaking lettuce into a bowl for salad.

“To our old house.” DJ snagged a carrot from the plastic sack on the counter.

Lindy kept her eyes on her daughter and her hands busy with the salad.

DJ waved the carrot in the air. “You know what?”

“What?”

“You can't go back.”

“So?”

“So it isn't the house.”

“I don't understand. What isn't the house?”

“Well, it isn't the house that makes a home. We've moved on up to a bigger house, and while I thought it didn't feel like home, it does. I've moved up to bigger shows, and they'll feel like home eventually. I've moved up in my art, too.”

She dug her midterm report out of her back pocket and tossed it on the counter.

Lindy wiped her hands on her apron and, still watching DJ, pulled the card from the envelope.

DJ kept her face as blank as she could, watching her mother. After all, a girl who went from a D minus to a B minus in algebra in one quarter could do about anything she set her mind to. She could keep on moving up, as far as she wanted to go.

“You did it! I knew you could.” Lindy threw her arms around her daughter and danced her around the kitchen.

“Me too—now.”

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Joanie Jagoda, who brainstorms, coaches, and critiques not only my horse information, where she is a master, but throughout my books.

Thanks, Tim Mitchell, for your help in the field of algebra, where I, like DJ, struggle or don't as the case may be. No telling who you might sit next to on an airplane.

Thanks to Rochelle and Natasha for helping keep my timelines straight and all the other things that editors do to help books become the best they can be.

 

To Pat Rushford,
friend and encourager
Thanks

Chapter • 1

“Reverse, please, and trot.”

Darla Jean Randall signaled her horse, Major, into the trot and began posting. She kept her shoulders and back straight, her eyes forward, and her total focus on her horse and the ring. Keeping herself from admiring her competition took real discipline.

You know they are lots prettier than Major
. DJ, as she made sure everyone called her, tried to ignore the sarcastic little voice, too—the voice saying
nanar, nanar, nanar
, like kids teasing each other.

She wanted to pat Major's shoulder, but she knew better. They were in the show-ring, after all, a big
rated
show-ring, with expensive horses and riders looking to the big time.

Like her, except she lacked the expensive, flashy horse that would catch the judge's eye.

“Walk, please.”

Major snorted when DJ sat down and tightened his reins. He'd rather canter. He'd rather jump. But they were doing flat classes because Bridget Sommersby, DJ's coach, said that's what they must do.