High Hurdles (20 page)

Chapter
•
9

Air. I can’t get air.

“DJ, are you okay?”

If I could breathe, I might be
. DJ fought the clenching pain in her chest. She wiggled her fingers and toes. Yep, all there and working. It was just her breath. She tried to take little shallow huffs. Getting the wind knocked out of you took some getting used to.

She looked up to find Amy peering down into her face.

“Blink if you can hear me.” Amy spoke slowly, as if DJ were hard of hearing.

DJ blinked.

“Hey, you know what? You’re supposed to tuck and roll on a fall like that, not land flat out.”

DJ’s furious gaze made Amy grin.

“Are you really all right?” Amy let her concern show.

“I . . . am . . . fine.” The whisper broke through the lock on DJ’s chest. “Wh-where . . . is . . . P . . . ?”

“Running around like a wild mustang. Hilary and John are trying to catch him.”

“I . . . could . . . k . . .” DJ finally was able to get enough air past her tongue to talk. She pushed herself till she was sitting on one hip, her straight arms propping her up. Her head refused to remain upright without a steel brace, but other than that, she thought she might live. At least live long enough to kill that . . . She halted the thought. Calling him names wouldn’t do anyone any good. And at the moment it was a waste of good air.

“You’re really all right?”

“I will be.” DJ sucked in a deep breath and spit out the grains of dirt that coated her lips. She rubbed them together, then backhanded her mouth. “That good-for-nothing horse, I . . .” She looked around the arena to spot him playing dodge-’em with the two workers.

“I think he’s laughing.” Amy fought now to keep a straight face.

“Well, don’t
you
laugh. I’ll find my sense of humor again, after I beat him into the ground.” DJ reached out a hand and let Amy pull her up. Standing, her chest still hurt, but she no longer sounded like a leaky bellows. She dusted off her jeans and T-shirt.

“You look like you’ve been rolling around in the dirt.” Amy ducked a left swing. “How you gonna catch Patches?”

“The only way. Get a grain bucket.” DJ strode off across the arena and out the gate, calling Patches all the names she could think of and a few she made up as she went along. She included a few for herself, as well.

“That will not help.” Bridget met her halfway back across the parking lot.

“The grain won’t? Sure it will, he loves treats.”

“No, calling yourself names. Getting dumped sometimes just goes with the territory.” Bridget kept pace with DJ.

“How’d you know?”

“DJ, anyone can read your face like an open book. Besides, I remember the times it happened to me. You always think you could have done something differently. Maybe you could have. You never know what will happen to spook a horse, so you need to do your best to pay attention, build lightning reflexes, and dust yourself off when you hit the ground. Praying that you do not get hurt is not a bad idea, either.”

DJ nodded. “Here I was patting him and telling him what a great job he was doing, and he dumped me. See if he ever gets praise from me again.” Her smile said she was teasing.

She let herself into the arena and shook the bucket. “Hey, Patches, how about lunch?”

Hilary and John both gave her a grateful look. The ones they directed at the now-calming horse could have branded him with a big
D
for disgusting. Patches trotted over to DJ and stuck his head out to sniff the bucket. DJ poured grain from her hand back into the pail. Patches stepped closer. DJ reached out and snagged his reins with one hand, letting him grab a bite before handing the pail to Amy. “There now, mister, your running days are done.”

“Get back on him now and make him go through his paces so he does not think he can get away with this type of behavior.” Bridget crossed her arms on the top rail and rested her chin on a closed fist.

DJ did as ordered, feeling some creaks in her body when she swung her leg over the saddle. It might be a good idea to take a long, hot soak when she got home. Shame they didn’t have a hot tub.

She kept a careful eye on her horse and worked him through walk, jog, lope, figure eights, and reverses, working about five feet from the rail. The first time he came to the spot where the child had scared him, he tried to leap clear across the arena—without touching the ground. DJ moved right with him, ready and waiting for his antics.

“Good, that’s the way. Do not ever let a horse buffalo you. Show him who is in control.”

“He’s come a long way, hasn’t he?” Mrs. Johnson said when she joined Bridget and DJ at the fence a few minutes later. “But I can certainly see why he isn’t a horse for Andrew here. I’m glad I’m not the one training him, even though I’ve ridden in the past.”

“Once DJ is finished with Patches, he’ll be a dependable horse for you.”

“Maybe we should have you watch for a large pony for us, something more like Bandit.” The woman smoothed a strand of long blond hair back into the club at her neck. She dropped her hand to the shoulder of the slender boy standing beside her.

DJ watched the boy’s reaction. He didn’t look as though learning to ride was the thing he wanted most in the world. In fact, he looked scared to bits.
Uh-oh
, she thought.
This could be a hard one
.

“How would you like to pet Patches?” she asked the silent child. While he looked to be about eight, his face had the pallor of a child who spent most of his time indoors. Had he been sick or something?

Andrew shook his head.

“Come on, dear.” Mrs. Johnson took her son’s hand and reached toward the horse’s muzzle with it.

Patches lowered his head and sniffed, then snorted, not even a big snort.

Andrew jerked back.

Patches jerked up.

DJ knew they were in trouble. His lesson today would not be on a horse’s back—not even one as gentle as Bandit.

“Let me put Patches here away, and then we’ll start our lesson,” she said with a smile meant to reassure the child.

Even she could tell the smile had failed. This kid did
not
want anything to do with horses.

When DJ put the gelding back in his stall, he rubbed his forehead against her chest and blew gently, as if he was worn out. “You silly thing. Yes, I forgive you. Just don’t do it again, okay?” Patches snuffled her cheek and nosed her pocket, obviously hoping for a treat.

“Sorry, fella, you don’t deserve one. I’m fresh out anyway.” She slid the lower half of the door in place and headed for the drink machine. She’d earned a can of root beer, that was for sure. Then it was on to Andrew.

But when the boy absolutely refused to leave his mother’s side, Mrs. Johnson smiled apologetically and sent Andrew to the car. He scampered off as if shot from a cannon. “I’m sure he’ll come around. We’ll be back on Tuesday.”

“From now on she will not be allowed in the area while you are giving a lesson.” Bridget patted DJ on the shoulder. “I will take care of that, and you can help that scared little rabbit learn horses can be good friends.”

DJ nodded, but felt doubtful.

Sipping her drink, she wandered back to the tack room and gathered her grooming supplies. Even though she didn’t have many stalls to clean, she still had a couple horses to groom.

When DJ got home, a message on the machine from Angie said she had a new baby brother. DJ clapped her hands. “All right!” She found the note her mother had left that morning, including a long list of chores to do. Lindy would be late tonight, and she had to leave on an unexpected trip in the morning. DJ felt her chin bounce to the floor and refuse to return to its proper place. So what was
she
supposed to do? Could she stay by herself? Why not? She wandered around the house, touching Gran’s easel, her wing chair. DJ picked up Gran’s painting smock and raised it to her nose. The bite of turpentine and the smell of paints were mingled with the floral fragrance that was Gran. DJ dropped the garment back on its hook on the edge of the easel.

She’d better get to vacuuming. The cord was tangled around the broom in the closet, and when she jerked on the handle, a bundle of cleaning rags scattered at her feet. Putting them back caused the mop to fall over.

“This kind of thing only happens in cartoons.” DJ slammed the door on the mess and headed for the kitchen. Fixing a snack sounded like a better idea. But her breakfast stuff, along with her mother’s, still cluttered the counter.

“How come I have to pick up after her, too?” DJ grumbled at the food containers in the open fridge. She pushed things around until she found the pickle slices, took them out along with the mayo and lettuce, and set them on the counter. After making a ham and cheese sandwich, she added chips to her plate and took it into the family room. She could watch television now that she was off restrictions, so she plunked down in a corner of the sofa, raised the remote, and started flipping channels.

Channel surfing drove her mother nuts. DJ kept pressing the button just for the pure fun of it, even though she didn’t really like it, either—at least not when someone else was doing it. Nothing worth watching unless it was Oprah. She tuned it in for a moment, then flicked the Off button. She was done with lunch anyway.

By the time she’d finished the chores her mother had assigned her, the sun had sunk behind the trees. DJ settled into the lounge on the deck with a root beer and her sketch pad, but she couldn’t keep her mind on drawing.

Could she stay alone while her mother traveled? Of course. Did she want to? The house seemed so empty in the daylight, what would it be like at midnight?
It doesn’t make any difference—I’d be asleep by then
.

Mom would never let her stay alone. She could go to Amy’s. If only Gran was living here where she belonged rather than in San Francisco. Here DJ was fourteen years old, and she’d never stayed alone all night.

“Grow up, you can’t be a baby all your life.” House finches chirped and tweeted in the buckeye tree by the side fence. Mourning doves dug in the seeds at the bottom of the feeder, their wings whistling when they flew. The backyard peace settled around her. A couple of blocks over, the Rottweiler barked, his deep voice announcing his family’s homecoming.

“Gran, you need to be here. You’re the one who made our backyard so perfect. What will happen to it without you?” DJ knew she should turn on the sprinklers. The lawn needed mowing. How was she supposed to take care of the house, the yard, work at the Academy, and return to school next week? How was she going to make it?

The questions stole the gentle peace and sent her mind into overdrive. She glared at her sketch pad. The horse she’d been drawing while she’d been thinking was off kilter; something was wrong with his shoulders and the way he carried his head. She crisscrossed angry lines right through him.

She looked up to see Lindy standing on the deck. “Did you call Gran and ask if she could come stay with you?” her mother asked as she sorted the mail. Obviously the stack of bills hadn’t helped her mood any.

“No.”

“Did you ask Amy if you could stay there?”

“No.” DJ softened her tone. “I’ve been thinking, it’s only one night, and since I’m fourteen now, I should be able to stay alone.”

“Over my dead body.”

“M-o-ther. Other people my age stay alone.”

“Not my kid.” Lindy headed for the phone. “I’ll call Gran. I have to be gone two days next week, too. Have to fly down to Los Angeles on Monday night for a meeting at eight Tuesday morning.”

DJ may have looked as if she were listening to her mother, but the voices inside her head were arguing so loudly, she couldn’t hear anything else. She clamped her teeth together to keep them from coming out.

This was so unfair.

“Gran said she’ll come.” Lindy returned to the family room where DJ sat crossways in a chair, her legs dangling over the side. She’d chewed two nails down to the quick.

“Great, treat me like a baby. See if I care.”

“Darla Jean, what has gotten into you?” Her mother planted her feet in the carpet and her hands on her hips—right smack in front of DJ. “I know you hate being here alone in the afternoon and evening, so why the big push for all night?”

“I have to grow up sometime. You keep telling me to grow up, and then when I try, you call Gran. ‘Please, Mom, come take care of our little darling.’ ” DJ imitated her mother’s voice to perfection. The sneer on her face was her own.

“If you can’t talk any more politely than that, you may go to your room.”

“Gladly.” DJ shoved herself out of the chair and stormed past her mother, thudding her fury out on each stairstep. Just in time, she thought the better of slamming her door. She could barely hear the click of the lock over the pounding of the blood in her head.

She locked her arms across her chest and stared out the window, angry with herself for losing her temper again.

This was all so stupid. She really hadn’t wanted to stay alone, and now she had made a big issue out of it. Maybe the fall from Patches had rattled her brains, too.