High Hurdles (49 page)

As DJ studied the bay, she worked out the other details. Should she draw him in the stall or in the ring? She finally settled on a head sketch since her time was so limited. Anyway, drawing Tony in the saddle would be too hard. She still had a tough time getting the proportions right on people.

When she heard Tony’s voice in the tack room, she scuttled back over to her own side of the barn. Her fingers were itching to take pencil in hand and begin drawing the lines that would bring the horse to life.

That night at home when the phone rang, she kept on sketching, leaving it for her mother to answer. Lindy came into the family room where DJ sat curled in Gran’s wing chair.

“It’s your father. He would like to come over again on Sunday.”

DJ looked up, pulling her thoughts together. “Why?”

“He wants to see you again.”

“Oh.” DJ shook her head. “I can’t Sunday. I plan to ride awhile and then we’re going to decorate the tree. Robert and the Bs are coming, remember?”

“Guess we’ll just have to do that in the evening.”

“Why don’t you tell him we’ve got other plans? That’s what you tell me to say.” DJ picked up her gum eraser and gently took out a couple of stray lines.

Lindy stood in the doorway a moment longer before returning to the kitchen. “That will be fine, Brad. We’ll see you about two.”

“M-o-t-h-e-r!” DJ catapulted out of the chair. Lindy was just hanging up the phone when her daughter hit the kitchen. “That’s no fair! I need to ride, and the weather report said we are supposed to have a nice weekend. I haven’t been up in Briones forever.”

“Sorry. That was the only time he could come, and he’s bringing you something.”

“Fine, he can drop it off and leave.”

“Darla Jean.” The note of warning was lost on DJ.

“How come you guys make all the decisions, and I’m just supposed to smile and agree?” She stomped across the floor to the fridge. “I’m so far behind with everything already, I’ll never catch up. . . .” She caught herself. Whoa, not the time to bring that up.

“Then it’s a good thing you won’t be taking time to go riding, isn’t it?” Icicles dripped from the tone.

“You’re not being fair. I’ll go riding anyway.”

“Darla Jean Randall, I think that is quite enough.”

DJ clamped her mouth shut, grabbed her soda, and just managed to keep from slamming the refrigerator door. “If anyone else calls with plans for me, I’ll be in my room.” The only bad thing about carpeted stairs was that she couldn’t stomp loudly enough, but DJ gave it a good effort. She knew better than to slam her bedroom door, however.

When she looked at the drawing in her hand, she shook her head and ripped the page off the tablet. Why would Tony want one of her lousy drawings, anyway?

At the party Saturday night, that same question troubled DJ. When it was Tony’s turn to open his gift, she squeezed her eyes shut and clutched Joe’s arm. What if Tony hated the picture?

Chapter
•
11

“Hey, look at this.” Tony held up the framed drawing for everyone to see. “Thanks, DJ.” He looked at the illustration again and then at her. “Did you draw this?”

She nodded.

“Cool, it looks just like him. I didn’t know you were an artist.”

“Most people don’t,” Joe muttered, just loud enough for DJ’s and Amy’s ears.

“They will now.” Amy poked DJ with her elbow. “You want money? Tell people you’ll draw their horses—for a fee, of course. Hey, I’m a poet, too!”

“And you’re a pain in the neck, but I don’t go around telling everybody.”

Tony passed the picture around amid oohs and ahs and “Wow, do you think you could do one for me?”

“How much would you charge, DJ?” Angie Lincoln’s mother asked.

“I don’t know.”

Amy leaned around DJ. “She’ll talk it over with her business agent and get back to you.”

“Who?” DJ sent Amy a glare fit to fell a tree.

“Your business agent—me, of course. You’ve been getting me in trouble for years with your money-making schemes, and now I’m going to make sure you earn enough money that I don’t ever have to do a pony party or raise hamsters again.” She ended on a triumphant note.

Joe nearly fell off his chair laughing. Gran pushed him upright and winked at DJ. “See, darlin’, I always told you your drawing would be a hit.” She turned to her husband. “What’s so funny?”

“Wish I had been in on the hamster hullabaloo. Knowing how much you like small, furry critters, that must have been a hoot.”

“Mom’s worse.” DJ grinned at her grandmother. “You can bet they didn’t try to help with the hamster roundup. And when John’s friend volunteered to bring his boa constrictor over to hunt for his dinner, they really freaked. Mom yelled that hamsters in the garage were bad enough, but she would
not
permit a monster snake, too.”

“I saw her freak at a garter snake once. ’Bout scared me half to death,” Amy joined in.

“Who, Gran or Mom?”

“Your Mom. Gran can handle garter snakes.”

“Thank you, Amy Yamamoto, you just made my day.” Gran’s smile could melt a block of ice at six paces.

“Attention, please.” Bridget, list in hand, stood at the front of the room next to a table of trophies. “We have now come to the most important part of the meeting—the annual awards. Keep in mind that while not all awards are the Olympic gold, every person here deserves an award for his or her conscientious work, dedication to riding and improvement, and contributions to life here at Briones Riding Academy. I want to thank you all. That said, remember that many of
our
awards are of a different sort.”

Applause broke out and died again.

“We will commence with the youngest and work our way up.” Groans greeted the announcement. “You can wait your turn.” Bridget’s smile brought forth grins and squirming. “Emily Guerrero, please step up.”

A five-year-old with dark hair and sparkling eyes got up from her place on the floor with the other little kids and came forward.

Bridget squatted down to be at Emily’s eye level. “You might be our youngest rider, but, Emily, you are all heart.” She pinned a heart-shaped badge that read
All Heart
on Emily’s chest.

Applause and whooping continued as the younger kids paraded up for their awards. A hush fell when Andrew’s name was called.

“Andrew, for your courage in overcoming your fear of horses, I crown you, Chief Courage.” She placed a gold paper crown on his head that said
chief
and handed him a box of Lifesavers. “Whenever you need more courage, just think of your crown and eat one of these.”

DJ shared a wet-eyed look with Gran. Amy nudged her and grinned.

“Thanks to you,” Amy whispered.

Angie received a ribbon-tied fly swatter to chase yellow jackets, Amy got the golden hoof pick for her ability to pick even the dirtiest hoof clean, and David got the beribboned pitchfork for cleaning stalls. The cheerleader-of-the-year pompon went to a blushing Tony for his most improved attitude.

“And DJ,” Bridget beckoned.

DJ scrunched her eyes closed for a moment, wishing she could hide behind Joe.
What will she give me?
She stood and went forward in spite of her dread. She hated being in the spotlight like this—they could turn off the lights and her red face would make the room light as day.

“This award is not presented very often,” Bridget smiled at the kids on the floor, “because we try hard here at the Academy not to make a practice of flying through the air—unless it is on the back of a horse. DJ, you have the honor of receiving a seat belt for your saddle. I crown you Queen of the Dumped.”

DJ tried hard not to laugh, but she had to join in as Bridget placed a ribbon around DJ’s neck with a gold-foil medal proclaiming her new title. The heat blazing on her face made her long for a fan as she fingered the medal on the way back to her seat. Someday she’d wear a real gold medal, and it wouldn’t be a joke. Perhaps it was a good thing her mom and Robert had to go to his company party and miss this crazy award.

“And last, but not least, we have an award for Joe Crowder.” Bridget held up a coffee mug with a rickety cartoon horse on it. “For the oldest new rider here.”

After Joe returned to his seat, Hilary stood. “And now it’s our turn.” She carried a package to the front. “Bridget, for all your hard work and effort on our behalf, we give you this with our thanks and appreciation.”

Bridget took the slender box and carefully slit the paper ends.

“Just rip it!” yelled one of the little boys.

Bridget winked at him and slit open the taped seam. When the box opened, she drew out a gift certificate, along with a picture. “A new sign for the pickup.” She held up the artwork featuring the academy logo in blue, circled by the name and address. The phone number was at the bottom. “How perfect. Thank you.”

“You have to take the truck into a shop to be painted,” Emily informed her.

“Thank you,” Bridget replied.

“We all gave money,” Emily continued, until someone put a hand over her mouth and whispered in her ear. “But I was just—”

“And with that, won’t you all come and help yourselves to dessert,” Bridget said above the laughter.

Several people stopped DJ and commented on the picture she’d drawn. Before she realized it, she had promised to do several, but made sure they knew it would have to wait until after Christmas.

“Told you so,” Amy whispered on her way back from a refill at the punch bowl.

“If you’re so smart, why didn’t you have a price list drawn up?” DJ hissed back. She turned to field another interested parent.

“I really don’t do people very well—”

“Don’t believe her, you can recognize her riders, too.”

DJ felt like clamping a hand over Amy’s mouth like someone had with Emily.

On the way home, she and Gran discussed fees and more about the drawing commissions.

“The fee should depend on the size of the picture.” Joe swung the truck into DJ’s driveway.

“Wonder how the company party is going for Robert? Shame he and your mother couldn’t have been in two places at once. They’d have been proud of you.”

“Oh, sure—Queen of the Dumped.” DJ fingered the medal she still wore. “Did you see the look on Andrew’s face tonight? And to see him up on that pony the other day—that was primo.”

“You could come over to our house.” Gran reached up to give DJ a half-hug over the seat.

“I know, but I need to work on some stuff here. If only the Atwoods weren’t coming tomorrow, Joe, we could go riding. Look.” She pointed at the star-filled sky. “Clear and supposed to stay that way.”

“There’ll be another day. We’ll wait till you get in.” Joe gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Good night, kid.”

DJ worked on the book for the twins until her eyes refused to stay open any longer. When she turned off the lights and snuggled down under the covers, the medal she dreamed of gleamed with the luster of real Olympic gold.

The sunny morning, just cold enough so DJ could see her breath, did nothing for her sense of humor. If she skipped church, she could go riding. Maybe if she dawdled long enough over caring for Major, she would have an excuse. She
could
say she overslept. How would her mother know? Lindy had still been asleep when DJ left the house.

She propped her bike against the barn wall and trotted down the aisle and outside to Major’s stall. Her whistle set half the barn to nickering, but Major outdid the others. He tossed his head, his forelock covering one eye. When she got close enough, he sniffed her pockets, finally finding his treat in the pouch of her hooded gray sweat shirt.

“Think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?” DJ teased as she dug out his carrot.

“He’d take your sweat shirt apart if you didn’t give in.” Joe stopped the wheelbarrow by Ranger’s stall and began forking out dirty shavings.

“What would you say to going for a ride?” DJ let Major lean his forehead against her chest so she could rub the tips of his ears.

“Nice try, kid, but you know the rules.”

DJ gazed up at the hills in Briones State Park. This would be such a perfect riding day. “We could hurry and be back in time for church.”

“Washed and dressed by nine-thirty?” He looked at his watch. “Give me a break.”

DJ muttered her way through feeding and stall cleaning. She gave Major a halfhearted grooming and dumped her gear back into the bucket. Why did grown-ups always have to mess up kids’ lives?

When she got home, her mother was vacuuming the family room. From the looks of her outfit, she planned on doing some major cleaning.

“Aren’t you going to church?” DJ asked.

“Not if we’re going to be ready for company all afternoon. You and Joe are picking up the tree on the way home. Your father is supposed to be here about two, and Robert will come out with the boys at four. Now, tell me when I have time to go to church.”

“I could stay home and help you.”
And go riding when we’re done
.

“No, one of us better get some religion today, just in case it helps to keep the peace around here.”

DJ headed for the kitchen to get some breakfast. When her mother was in
this
kind of mood, disappearing was the smartest move. And besides, if she couldn’t go riding, she wasn’t about to stay home and do housework.

While she dressed, DJ let her mind roam to Christmases past. Up until last year, it had been only the three of them—Gran, Mom, and her. Simple. They had decorated the tree the Sunday before Christmas, attended the midnight service on Christmas Eve, and opened presents on Christmas morning. Of course, Gran had baked lots of goodies, and DJ had helped when she could. But
this
year Gran was married and living in a different house, they had family all over the country, and suddenly DJ had a father.

She jerked the brush through her hair and made a face at the one in the mirror. Wrapping a scrunchy around her ponytail, she headed back to her room. The roar of the vacuum came up from downstairs. With a flinch, she returned to the bathroom, put the towels in the hamper, wiped out the sink, and hung new towels. A last-minute check told her the room passed muster and she wouldn’t get yelled at. If she ever wanted to ride again, keeping on her mother’s good side was a smart move.

She was just heading for her bedroom when she heard the car honk—Gran and Joe were there. No time to make the bed or pick up the clothes strewn on the floor. She quickly closed the door, promising herself she would do it first thing when she got home.