High Hurdles

High Hurdles Collection One

Copyright © 1995, 1996, 1997

Lauraine Snelling

Cover design by Eric Walljasper

Cover photography by Aimee Christenson

Special thanks to Birchbury Farm and Stacy Lee for their generous assistance with the cover photo shoot.

Previously published in five separate volumes:

Olympic Dreams
© 1995

DJ’s Challenge
© 1995

Setting the Pace
© 1996

Out of the Blue
© 1996

Storm Clouds
© 1997

Scripture quotations identified NIV are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION.® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved. The “NIV” and “New International Version” trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Published by Bethany House Publishers

11400 Hampshire Avenue South

Minneapolis, Minnesota 55438

Bethany House Publishers is a division of

Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

E-book edition created 2011

ISBN 978-1-4412-3507-7

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available for this title.

LCCN: 2010053030

About the Author

Lauraine Snelling is an award-winning author of over sixty books, fiction and nonfiction, for adults and young adults. Her books have sold over two million copies. Besides writing books and articles, she teaches at writers’ conferences across the country. She and her husband, Wayne, have two grown sons and a basset hound named Chewey. They make their home in California.

Editor’s Note

Originally published in the 1990s, these books reflect the cultural and social aspects of that time. In order to maintain the integrity of the story, we opted not to impose today’s styles, technologies, laws, or other advancements upon the characters and events within. We believe the themes of love of God, love of family, and love of horses are timeless and can be enjoyed no matter the setting.

With love to my brother Don and my

sister Karen, who helped me catch our

horse Silver even when they didn’t want

to. I am so fortunate to be in the same

family as you.

Chapter
•
1

“One day—the Olympics.”

Darla Jean Randall scrunched her eyes shut, crossed her fingers, and breathed her prayer all at the same time. She repeated it for good measure, then opened her green eyes and stared at the poster on the wall above her dresser. Five interlocking gold Olympic rings topped an illustration of a dark mahogany horse flying over a triple jump, its mane braided with red, white, and blue ribbons. The red-jacketed rider, in total control, rode poised over the horse’s withers.

One day she would be in that picture. She, thirteen-year-old DJ Randall—well, fourteen minus twenty-one days—would hear the roar of the crowd as she and her mount triumphantly finished the cross-country course. When DJ closed her eyes again, she could almost feel the horse beneath her, the thrust of its powerful haunches sending them flying easily over the jumps. She could hear the cheers of the crowd, smell and taste the victory.

DJ reluctantly pulled her attention away from her daydream and clattered down the stairs. Her best friend, Amy Yamamoto, waited at the bottom.

“What took you so long?” Amy checked her watch. “You’ve got a group lesson to teach in half an hour. And you know those little kids are champing at the bit.”

“Sorry. I got sidetracked.” Darla Jean, known instead as DJ since she demanded everyone call her that, hopped on one foot while she pulled on a boot. She grabbed her riding helmet off the peg by the door, clapped it on her head, and instinctively tucked her wavy blond ponytail up into it.

“You be careful now.” Her grandmother’s voice followed her out the door.

“Yeah, I will.” DJ’s answer, yelled over her shoulder, was automatic.

The warm Pleasant Hill, California, sun lay golden over the bleached tan hills of Briones Park to the west as DJ and Amy hopped onto their ten-speed bikes and pedaled up the slope.

“How do you plan to ride in the Olympics when you don’t even have a horse?” Amy renewed the discussion they had had countless times before.

“Remember when I said I wanted to ride and you said I didn’t even know how?”

“I know.”

“I got a job at the Academy to pay for riding lessons, and everything worked out.”

“Yeah, and how many gazillion stalls have we mucked out since then?”

DJ shifted down to pump up the steep hill ahead. “So now I need money to buy a horse of my own.”

“You need to learn to jump first.” Practical Amy, riding in front, had to yell to be heard.

“Sure would be super to be training my own horse at the same time.” Labored puffs between DJ’s words attested to the grade of the hill.

They crested the hill and coasted down the other side. Aluminum pipe fences surrounded the riding rings, open-air stalls, and pasture area of Briones Riding Academy, known simply as the Academy by the working students and the others who rode there. A square white sign informed the public they could take lessons there and stable their horses.

The two girls turned into the gravel drive. “Too bad your mom can’t buy you a horse.”

“Right.” DJ shrugged. “So what else is new? She couldn’t afford lessons either, but I got ’em. I can’t afford to wait around for her to help.”

They parked their bikes in front of the low red barn with an aluminum roof. A raked sand aisle on each side divided the four lines of stalls fifteen box stalls long. Here lived the horses stabled at the Academy by outside owners. Some of them came to ride every day, but most of the animals were cared for and exercised by academy employees.

“I’ve got a treat for Diablo, then I’ll meet you at the office.” DJ dug in her pocket for the carrot pieces she always brought for the fiery sorrel gelding and trotted down the right aisle of stalls, calling out greetings to her favorite animals as she passed. She would have needed a bucket to treat all her friends.

“Hi, big fella.” DJ grinned at the excited nicker from the restless sorrel. “I brought you something.” Diablo lipped the carrot off her hand, rubbing his forehead against her chest while he munched. When he slobbered on her cheek, she inhaled a strong dose of carrot perfume. “You big silly. You act so tough, but you’re really a marshmallow inside.”

DJ rubbed the red’s ears and murmured sweet words all the while. She was sure she couldn’t love him more if he really belonged to her. She buried her nose in his thick mane and breathed deep. Nothing in the entire world smelled as good as a horse.

Amy’s whistle called DJ back to reality.

“See ya later.” She tickled Diablo’s whiskery lip one last time and headed back to the entrance, ignoring his pleading whinny.

“Looks like James didn’t show up again,” Amy said when DJ joined her. “The stalls need mucking, and I was supposed to do the show grooming today.”

“We’ll be here all afternoon.” DJ’s eyes lit up. “Extra money for lessons. Maybe there’ll even be some to put in my horse fund!”

“Great. And I thought we could go swimming today.” Amy propped both their bikes out of the way against the wall and stuck her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “Come on, let’s get going.”

Dust puffed up around their boots as they walked across to the combination tackroom and office building. DJ lifted the clipboard with her class roster off the announcements wall and waved at Bridget Sommersby. Owner, trainer, boss, and good friend. Bridget sat working at her desk on the other side of the large square window.

Bridget signaled DJ to wait. “Angie’s mother called. Angie caught a bug and won’t be here today.” She checked the calendar on her wall. “You’re reviewing leads, right?”

“And starting figure eights. Shame Angie’s missed so much. She’s the only natural rider in the group.”

“I know. Too bad kids with asthma seem to catch every bug that comes around. Angie’s parents have signed her up for the next series of lessons, though. Say, DJ, after you are finished today, do you want to work Diablo? He needs extra attention. His owners called and said they would be out to see him.”

“Really? I thought they’d forgotten all about him. Wish I could buy him.” DJ shook her head. “Why own such a super horse and then never ride him?”

“Who cares? This way you can pretend he’s yours.” Amy picked up a bucket full of brushes and combs. “Where do you want me to start today, Bridget? That Quarter Horse’s tail needs pulling if he’s going to show. James should be here to help out. What happened to him
this
time?”

“I believe he is sick.”

“Who called in his excuse, the nanny or the chauffeur?”

“Come on, now, don’t be catty. It is not James’ fault his father has as much money as the San Francisco mint.”

“Well, he isn’t learning much about responsibility when he only shows up when—”

“That is enough.” Bridget didn’t waste words any more than she wasted motions—or emotions for that matter. “I will come with you, Amy, so we can make some decisions.” She ushered them out and closed the door behind her. “Oh, DJ, did you check with your grandmother about the show coming up? The entry fees should be sent in tomorrow.”

DJ felt the familiar catch in her stomach. She
hated
asking Gran for money. But Mom was never around to ask. She was forever traveling for her job or at one of her graduate school courses. Not that she ever had money to give anyway.

“Yeah, I know. I gotta get to my class. Talk to you later.” DJ strolled across the dusty parking lot to the front ring where two girls, ages eight and ten, stood by the gate with their horses’ reins in hand.

“Okay, let’s go over your gear.” DJ spoke in the hearty, confident tone that helped make her a good teacher. No time now to think about money.

She carefully checked each girth, bit, and chin strap. When she had made sure the girls were wearing the required heeled boots, she swung open the gate. “Riders up.”

DJ walked to the center of the deeply sanded ring and watched her charges walk their horses clockwise around its outer edge. Heads bobbing, the horses plodded along, well used to the routine. The girls sat deep in their saddles, heels down, eyes focused ahead on the spot between their horses’ ears.

“Keep your right hand on your thigh,” DJ called to one of the girls. “And don’t let him go to sleep on you.” After checking riders and horses again, she ordered a trot.

By the time the class was finished, DJ felt sweat beads trickling down her back.

“So how’s the new saddle feel, Samantha? It must fit you better—you look more comfortable.”

“I like it. It’s still kinda stiff in the stirrups though.”

“It will be for a while. A little saddle soap will help soften them up.”

DJ motioned the other girl forward. “Krissie, you did real well today. Kept him off the rail and on a steady jog like I asked.”

“He’s a stubborn horse, but my mom says I’m stubborn enough for three people.”

“Then the two of you should do just fine. If you could get out here to practice more, it would help.”

“I know. Thanks for the lesson.”

“You’re welcome.” DJ watched as her students headed for their stalls to put away their tack and brush down their mounts. Both owned their horses.

DJ ignored the tiny bite of jealousy she felt.
Beginning riders and they are already horse owners. What I wouldn’t give
—she canceled the thought and followed her charges to the stables. Some of the academy riders’ mothers waited patiently in their expensive, air-conditioned cars; others walked to the stalls to hurry their daughters along.

“DJ, when can our group go trail-riding in the Briones?” Samantha asked. Briones State Park bordered the west edge of the Academy’s acreage.

“You guys have done so good! We’ll pack lunches and go in two weeks. But, Sam, you need to get over here to practice more. You could be a really good rider if you did.”

“I wish, but my mom is expecting a baby. She says she’s too miserable to drive me over every day.”

“So ride your bike.”

The slender girl shook her head. “Too far. And Mom says the road’s too dangerous.” She scuffed her boot toe in the dust, studying the patterns she drew. “I want to be the best—you know, compete in the shows and stuff.” She looked up at DJ, dark eyes serious. “Like you do.”

DJ felt a curious knot in her middle. This could have been her at eight. Only her mom wouldn’t have been pregnant. Of course, if her mom had ever found someone to marry, maybe there would have been a brother or sister for—DJ slammed the lid on those thoughts. She
never
let them out when other people were around.

“If you want it bad enough, you can make it happen.” She knew where the words had come from. She hadn’t planned on saying such a thing. But then, she hadn’t planned on having this conversation, either.

DJ grinned and tweaked Sam’s red ponytail. She repeated her grandmother’s words again, “If you want something bad enough, you can make it happen.” Of course, Gran said to pray about it, too, but DJ didn’t think this was the right place to bring praying up. She ought to ask Gran out here to give the girls a pep talk, like a coach before a big game.

“You better get Soda brushed down, Sam. Your mom is waiting.”

DJ joked with the girls while she supervised them caring for their horses. She did the heavy work—lifting the Western saddles down and standing them on their horns in the aisle—but each girl had to groom her own horse and take care of the stall and tack. While some people paid the Academy for these services, other parents felt that caring for a horse was part of ownership. DJ agreed.

She waved them both off, then walked back to the office. Maybe Bridget had time to talk now. Horses nickered for attention when she passed their stalls. She could hear Amy talking to someone over in the other aisle. It sounded like James had finally made it to work.

But when DJ got to the office, the academy owner was busy with another client, so she returned to the barns. There were still three stalls to muck out on this aisle before she could work with Diablo. She snapped the horses on the hot walker, cleaned the stalls, and spread new shavings in record time. Maybe she’d give Diablo a bath after riding him.

DJ wiped the sweat off her face with the hem of her T-shirt. This July day was meeting its earlier promise of being warm to hot. She stopped at the drinking fountain on the north side of the stable and guzzled the tepid water before splashing some on her face. She’d make sure to splash plenty on herself while bathing the big red horse. The day was growing long. DJ wished she’d brought a lunch.

“Hi, fella, you miss me?” She stopped in front of the impatient gelding and slung her English saddle over the stall’s half door. Diablo pawed the shavings down to the hard-packed dirt. He snorted, then pricked his ears forward. DJ stroked his long forelock and brushed it off the bright white diamond in the center of his forehead. A cowlick in the center swirled the hairs in a circle. “You’re such a beauty. If only I could buy you. Wonder how much I’d need?”

He rubbed his forehead against her, leaving red and white hairs on her light purple T-shirt. DJ tickled the hairs sticking out of his ears. “Let’s get going, you old silly.” She kept up the easy murmur she used when working with the horses, talking to the sleek Thoroughbred-Quarter Horse cross as if he understood every word—and answered. Once he was bridled and saddled, she led him out to the cement block for mounting.