High Hurdles (61 page)

While God hadn’t answered that prayer in the morning, He had answered another. For the first time since the accident, Major’s leg was cool to the touch and free of swelling. “Thank you, Father,” DJ murmured over and over as she rubbed liniment into the muscles and tendons. Major nosed her back and nibbled at her jacket.

“I know, I know. You need hugs and loves, but I’m in a hurry this morning. You know I’m not even supposed to be here, don’t you? This is Friday, a school day, normally. And I’m going home with Brad for the weekend, so you better be good for Joe, you hear?”

Major snorted and shifted his weight so he leaned into her. “Get over there, you big goof.” DJ straightened and brushed back a lock of hair his nosing had released from her ponytail. She dug the last carrot piece from her jacket pocket and presented it to him. “Now, I’m going to tie you in the aisle while I clean up your mess. Don’t go messing out there.” She tried to sound stern, but she giggled when he whiskered her cheek.

Joe laughed at them both from the next stall. “You two doing a comedy routine?” He leaned on his pitchfork. “I’ll clean the stalls later if you need some time to get ready.”

“Thanks, GJ, but I’m fine. Thanks for the ride, too—I’d have been soaked riding my bike. Wish Amy had been ready when we stopped.”

“I’m sure sleeping in for a change was welcome.” Joe stroked Major’s nose. “Let me know when you want to head home. Maybe we could do McDonald’s for breakfast. Melanie is already hard at her painting.”

It was still strange to hear someone call Gran by her given name. At the thought, DJ could see Gran in her old wing chair, open Bible on her lap and cup of steaming tea on the table beside the chair. That had been the sight that greeted DJ on her first trip down the stairs every morning for as far back as she could remember. Some mornings, she still caught herself looking for Gran, wanting the feel of Gran’s gentle hand on her hair as DJ knelt beside her knees, leaning her head into Gran’s lap.

DJ sighed at the memory. Big-time changes had zapped the Randall house in the last year. And there would only be more!

One of the biggest changes pulled up into the driveway a couple of hours later. Handsome as a movie star and with a voice as smooth as warm caramel, Brad Atwood greeted her when she answered the doorbell.

“Hi, DJ, you about ready?” A smile much like her own lighted his blue eyes and deepened the creases in his cheeks.

“Almost.” She motioned him in. “Joe said the rivers are getting high up north. You okay?”

“For now.” He shook his head, scattering droplets of rainwater from his sun-lightened hair. “If this keeps up, though, we could be in trouble. Weatherman said we would get a break this afternoon. Even showed a smiling sun on the screen.”

DJ reached inside the closet for her slicker. “I hope so. I’ll get my duffel, and we can go.”

As she headed up the stairs, he called after her. “Why don’t you bring your drawing pad? I’ve got a scene or two up there that will set your fingers to itching.”

“Okay.” DJ grabbed her portfolio and gave a last glance around her room. Everything in place, the bathroom shiny and kitchen in order to boot. Amazing how quickly she could finish her chores when she had to.

An hour later, as they drove to Santa Rosa, DJ glanced out the rain-streaked window of the Land Rover at the swollen Napa River, which had spread across the lowlands below Highway 29. The area looked suspiciously like an extension of San Francisco Bay. The Petaluma River was also edging dangerously toward the tops of the levees. Rain pounded the windshield, the wipers wapping at high speed.

Chapter
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4

“Oh, what a baby!”

The little filly peeked out at DJ from behind the safety of her mother. The mare’s tail acted as a screen for her foal, draping across the tiny dark muzzle and furry ears. Mother stood quietly, leaning into the hands of Brad, who was stroking her cheek.

“She sure is a cutie. And that’s her favorite position. I thought you might like to draw it.” Brad shifted to stroking the mare’s neck. “This old girl was my first mare to foal, back before I had a barn like this and could afford the stallion that sired this baby. I thought last year might be the last foal from her, but she took again. The vet said she’s still in good shape, so we may get another.”

DJ leaned her chin on her hands on the top of the stall door. “The mare doesn’t seem to mind a stranger here.”

“No, she’s an old hand with humans, but I once saw her drive a coyote out of the field. That critter ran like he had the devil himself breathing fire on the tip of his tail.”

The filly snorted and stamped one tiny hoof.

“She thinks she’s pretty hot stuff.”

“I can tell. She should.” DJ held out a hand. The baby took a step back under the protective veil, but extended her nose, nostrils quivering.

“She’s a smart one, too. Of course, with her breeding, she should be.”

“Have you named her yet?”

“Nope, thought I’d let you do that. I wanted to give her to you, but Jackie says you will need a bigger horse for jumping, probably one with some Thoroughbred blood. Arabians are good jumpers, but they are better known for their endurance.”

DJ tried to swallow. Her dry throat ignored her command. “M-m-me?” The stutter barely got past the desert of her mouth.

“Of course, Jackie also reminded me that you’ll need an intermediate horse when you’ve grown beyond Major. We’ll have a friend watching for one in a year or two. Jackie was glad to know you’re taking dressage lessons, too. Any and all the training you can get will be a help.”

DJ finally located her voice. “Ah.”
Now that’s intelligent. Come on, say what you think!

Brad turned to look at her. “You all right?”

DJ swallowed again. “I would be if you slowed down some. You can’t just go giving horses away. And . . . and . . . Major will be good for a long while and . . .”

“And what?” Brad leaned against the stall, still stroking the mare’s neck with one hand. “Darla Jean Randall, I’ve got news for you. Since I am your father, I can give you something if I want to.”

“S-s-something isn’t a purebred Arabian filly worth who knows how much and a h-horse for competition jumping and a . . .” She stammered to a close.

The filly stamped her foot again, dragging DJ’s attention back to the baby.
What would it be like to have a horse like her for my very own? A baby to raise and train from the very beginning
. A lump formed in the back of her throat and burned behind her eyes.

“Besides, Mom would have a cow.”

“She’d do better with a horse.” The twinkle in his eyes brought a smile to DJ’s lips. “Come on.” He threw an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go have lunch. Jackie is waiting for us, and if we don’t hurry, she’ll claim I’ve been hogging you. Let’s show her just how generous I am.”

Cows, horses, hogs—DJ felt like a herd of each of the named animals had run right over her. She thought about the incredible Crosby saddle her father had given her for Christmas. While she’d spent time rubbing saddle soap into it, she had yet to put it on her horse. Not with the yucky weather they’d been having. That saddle she planned to save for the show-ring.

As she and her father matched step for step out to the truck, she put the thought of horses out of her mind and enjoyed the warmth of his arm around her shoulders. If this was what having a father felt like, maybe having two of them wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“So what do you think we should name the filly?” Brad asked as he eased the Land Rover toward the driveway up the easy rise to the house. While both house and barns were on a gentle hill, the house crowned the top. The three barns and the covered arena lay halfway down to the flat pastures that spread to the riverbank.

“I don’t know. What are her parents’ names?”

“Dam is Wishful, out of My Wish. Shenanigans was her sire. Stud is Matadorian. The foal has a two-year-old full brother and a yearling sister. Matadorian and Wishful have great offspring, so I went for a third. The two-year-old was a futurity winner last year, and the yearling’s competitors will have to work hard to beat her, too. I’m getting her ready for halter classes this season.”

He parked off to the side of the huge house, built of rust and ochre slate from northern California. Camellias in every combination of pink and white bloomed along the house walls, azaleas flaming at their feet. The riot of color was brightened even more by clumps of red and white primroses. It nearly took DJ’s breath away.

She and Gran had worked hard to create a lovely summer garden, but their roses looked pale beside this show. “Wow! How beautiful.”

“Thanks, it is, isn’t it? Jackie loves flowers almost as much as she loves horses.” He laughed and shook his head. “Not really, but they are her second love. She takes care of most of the landscaping around here, especially since she cut back on the hours she spends at the clinic. Says she’d rather show horses now than try to straighten out kids who have been given too many things and not enough time and love from their parents.”

He held open the heavy front door for her. “Jackie, we made it.”

“I’m in the kitchen.” The voice floated from the back of the house, along with a tantalizing fragrance.

“She made focaccia bread,” Brad said, sniffing, too. “All we have to do is follow our noses. We’ll leave your things here, unless you want to put them in your room first.”

“Whatever.” DJ propped her portfolio next to the duffel bag Brad had set by the wall. “I do need to wash my hands, though.”

“In there.” Brad pointed to the half bath off the hall to the kitchen.

“Hi, DJ, glad you could come.” Jackie greeted her with a hug and a huge smile when DJ entered the gourmet kitchen. Brass pots hung from a rack over the center island stove, and bunches of dried herbs dangled from hooks above the butcher-block work counter beside the stove. Light oak cabinets, some with backlit stained-glass fronts, lined the walls. Beyond the small table set for three, the full wall of glass bayed out to a redwood deck that led in descending steps to a small pond. Pots of blooming pansies mixed with golden daffodils and bright primroses took the gray from the day, in spite of the rain.

“I love this place.” DJ stood shaking her head, admiring everything around her.

“Thanks. I hope you’re hungry.” Jackie opened the oven door and pulled out a pan of flat, herb-topped bread. “I heard you like Italian food, so I made lasagna and foccacia bread. How does that sound?”

“Heavenly.” DJ trailed a finger over the marble countertops. “Can I help you?”

“Sure, cut this bread into rectangles about this big”—Jackie spread her fingers about two inches by three inches—“and put some in that basket. Brad, how about pouring the ice water? You want milk, DJ?” While she talked, Jackie removed a ceramic casserole dish from a second oven, its contents topped by slightly browned cheese and meat sauce. “We’ll serve from right here,” she said, setting it on the hot pads on the table.

“You’ve done yourself proud, lady. That smells divine.” Brad sniffed the air. “Come on, let’s eat.”

When they were all seated, Brad reached for DJ’s and Jackie’s hands. “Let’s say grace.” He bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, thank you for this food that Jackie has so lovingly made for us. Thank you, too, for prompting me to find my daughter—and for all the blessings you give us every day. Amen.”

DJ raised her head and took in a deep breath. She felt so welcomed and at home here in this house, with these people, it was almost scary.

By the end of lunch, she felt like she had done almost all the talking, they had asked her so many questions, especially about the Academy. She helped Jackie load the dishwasher and then the three of them headed back to the barns.

“If you look over your shoulder very carefully, you may catch a peek at the sun.” Brad dropped his voice to a whisper on the last word. He held a finger to his lips when DJ started to say something and pointed over her shoulder.

“Shhh, don’t scare it away,” Jackie whispered.

DJ tried swallowing her giggles and coughed instead.

“You did it.” Brad shook his head. “See, you scared it. Now we’ll have forty days and nights of rain.”

“I thought it was forty more days of winter, like with the groundhog.”

“Same difference.” Brad winked at DJ and shrugged at his wife. “Groundhog, schmoundhog, rain, drain. All parts of winter. And here I thought we might enjoy at least a moment of sunshine.”

“Sorry.” DJ hoped her face looked suitably apologetic. When Brad shook his head, she fought the giggles again. “You want me to do a sun dance?”

“No thanks. Then we might not see it again for weeks. If a look or a giggle could scare it away, what would a dance do?” He parked by the barn, and they all climbed out.

“Forgive this man I live with,” Jackie said to DJ. “Sometimes I think he is certifiably nuts.” She waited for Brad to pull open the sliding barn door. “You want to ride Lord Byron first or Herndon, the horse I used before him?”

“We have a jumper we’d like you to try, too.” Brad caught up with them.

He reintroduced her to all the horses in the stalls lining the long barn. “Some of the young stock is out on the pasture, since I figured they needed the exercise. While you two go play, I’ll put the rest of these guys out on the hot walker. Matadorian and I will join you in the arena later. You can take a turn on him again, too, DJ, if you like.”

“So many to choose from, I can’t decide.” DJ stopped in the middle of the aisle. Dish-faced horses with large, dark eyes and curving ear tips watched them from every stall. Some nickered, some stamped a foot. DJ wanted to hand out carrots to each and every one. Brass nameplates on the varnished wood doors gleamed in the light from long bulbs overhead. “This looks more like a movie set than a real barn. How do you keep it so nice?”

“Hired helpers,” Brad answered. “Most of them have worked for us for the last five years or so. Ramone is the head of the barn crew. He helps us with showing and in the breeding barn. Ramone’s been working with horses since about the time I was born, so we are really fortunate to have found someone like him. He took today off, but you’ll meet him tomorrow.”

“I do most of the breaking of the young stock,” Jackie offered. “Then Brad takes over the training. When he’s out of town, Ramone and I split the work. I spend two to three hours both training and conditioning Lord Byron most days, and my trainer comes twice a week.”

“Wow.” DJ shook her head. “I had no idea.” She turned to Brad. “You travel a lot?”

“Depends on the case.”

“He has quite a reputation as a legal attorney. But he tries to schedule his work around the big shows so we can do them together.” Jackie paused while Brad walked one of the most persistent nickerers out of her stall. “See how heavy she is? Due to foal within the month. That should be a real good baby, too. By Matadorian again.”

“You sell more fillies or colts?”

“Depends on the year. Matadorian’s sons are doing real well in the ring, and this year, we will have the first get from Matson, the oldest. We kept him for ourselves, at least for a while.”

“How many horses do you have?”

“Thirty-five—no, six with the little filly you get to name.” Jackie took her arm. “Come on, let’s go saddle up. If the sun does come through, I think we’ll ride down to the river when Brad joins us.”

If DJ thought riding Megs was a treat, Lord Byron took her breath away. Even with her limited use of aids, he responded like a dream come true. Following Jackie’s instructions, she rode the extended trot that seemed to float above the ground.

“You ride well for someone with so little dressage training.” Jackie held the big Hanovarian while DJ dismounted. “I think you must have a good trainer.”

“I do. Bridget rode for the French National Team a few years ago, but when she decided to live in the United States, she forfeited her place. She says she’d rather teach now, but I think something happened that she never talks about. At least not with us kids. She’s really a great teacher, though. One thing about her, you don’t ever try to make excuses or not do your best.” DJ gave a mock shudder. “I won’t ever make that mistake again.”

“I’m glad you have someone like that. Too many people give up when the going gets tough. You have to set your goals and work toward them.” Jackie stroked the near-black gelding’s arched neck. “This boy here was one of my goals. I wanted a horse with the capacity for Grand Prix levels. He can do it, too—but I’m still learning.” She smiled. “Boy, am I learning!”

“He’s a dream to ride, that’s for sure.” DJ adjusted the stirrups back to the shorter length. “Thanks for giving me the privilege.”

“I’m just trying to brainwash you to switch from jumping to dressage—at least that’s what your father says. Mount up on Herndon here, and I’ll give you the lesson I promised. Then you can take him over the jumps in the middle. He loves to jump and doesn’t get the chance very often.”