High Hurdles (64 page)

DJ briefly told her story again, sharing enough to be polite.

“And the wedding coming up, too. What a shame.” She turned back to the front. “Now, John, you watch your speed.” The implied “this time” made DJ glance curiously at Amy.

She mouthed, “He got a warning ticket.” DJ covered her snort with a sneeze.

“So what about that Mrs. What’s-her-name?” DJ asked when she could look at Amy without giggling.

“You’ll see” was all Amy would say.

DJ was in for a flurry of questions about her new look later at the Academy. “Think I’ll just wear a sign that says ‘I got dumped’ or something,” DJ muttered to Major.

He sniffed the bandage and snorted, spraying her with a fine mist. “So you don’t like the smell of bandage, huh?” She wiped her face. “Thanks a big fat lot.” She leaned against his neck and hugged him, making sure her bandage didn’t rub against him. The doctor had said to keep it clean and dry. So far, she’d managed.

Patches, too, gave her the once-over. Instead of snorting, he backed away.

“Oh yeah, anything to act nervous about, you’ll take.” She snapped a tie shank on his halter and snubbed him down to a stall bar. Patches couldn’t be trusted to stand still or keep his teeth to himself while being groomed. She’d learned that the hard way, too.

Once she had him groomed and saddled, she settled in for a rough ride. “Now, you just behave yourself, and we’ll get along fine.”

His ears flicked back and forth, letting her know he was listening, but his attention was clearly on a flashy bay taking jumps in the middle of the covered arena.

“Make sure you stay to the outside,” Bridget said as she opened the gate to the arena. “Give the jumper plenty of room.” She smiled up at DJ. “I am glad you were not hurt worse. Next time, lower the jump after a refusal, then work up to the earlier height. Get your horse’s confidence back and yours, too.”

“Thanks.”
Who blabbed?
she wondered. But when DJ felt Patches hump his back, she put all other thoughts from her mind. Arena sand wasn’t one of her favorite meals. She could tell after her warm-up laps that Mrs. Johnson had been riding over the weekend because Patches suddenly figured he could do whatever he wanted. DJ thought otherwise. Their training time was nearly over before he gave up the battle.

“You know, you stubborn beast, we would both have a lot more fun if you’d do what you’re told, when you’re told.”

The next time through, he started, stopped, cantered slow and easy, changed leads, and even backed up with only a flicking of his ears.

“He about used up all your patience?” Bridget swung the gate open to let them out.

“Tried to.”

“You do well with him. Mrs. Johnson was asking if you thought he was ready for you to work with the two of them together.”

“Me?”

Bridget nodded.

Doing her best to keep her cool and watch Patches at the same time, DJ asked, “What do you think?”

“Until I watched you work him today, I thought any time but . . .”

“He’s not usually this much of a pain. She has to learn to make him mind is all.”

“I will let her know that you will take her on as a student. She can set up a regular lesson time with you when she is ready. You will be paid double, one hour on him and one coaching them both. Any questions?”

DJ shook her head. “Not now, but later, I bet.”

“Good. See you on Megs in—”

“Could you maybe give me half an hour?”

DJ could have groomed six horses in that time, her hands flew so fast. Wait until she told Amy. An adult student!

But in the car, Amy was too busy grumbling to let DJ squeeze a word in edgewise. “That . . . that witch. She thinks she owns the place and that all of us are her slaves!”

After hearing Amy out, DJ asked, “So why does Bridget let her get away with stuff like that?”

Both Joe and Amy shrugged.

“But I’ll start asking around,” Joe promised. “Something odd is going on here.”

DJ had been home an hour before she heard the garage door open and her mother’s car pull inside. The meat loaf in the oven smelled good and would be done in half an hour, along with the baked potatoes. Just a few minutes before, DJ had checked everything to make sure nothing was out of place. The house looked good, the dinner smelled better, and DJ had washed and changed clothes. Tonight, she and her mother would have a good evening together.

“There are two messages on the machine for you,” she said while taking the plates down to set the table.

“Thanks, dear. What a day this has been!” Lindy set her briefcase on the counter and slipped off her heels.

“You want a cup of tea?”

“That sounds heavenly. Make it a raspberry zinger, okay?” She punched the code into the machine and scribbled some numbers as she listened. After dialing, she tapped a pearl-tinted fingernail on the countertop.

DJ knew that simple gesture said her mother was feeling worse than she looked. With no lipstick, smeared mascara, and her hair tousled as if she’d raked her fingers through it in frustration, she didn’t look like the normally polished Lindy.

After the greeting, Lindy exploded. “What! What do you mean?” A pause. “No, that can’t be.”

DJ froze. Now what?

Lindy hung up the phone, eyes closed, face twisted as though she were in pain.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“The Carillion—you know, the place we were planning to have the reception? It burned to the ground last night. Maybe this is the sign I’ve been afraid would happen. I just knew we’d have to call off the wedding!”

Chapter
•
7

“No, Mom! You can’t do that!” DJ grabbed her mother’s shoulders.

Lindy shrugged her off. “I don’t see any alternative. We can’t find a place to house the reception this close to the date.” She rubbed her forehead. “There are just too many things going wrong.”

DJ stared at her mother.
What can I do? God, surely you have a place in mind for the reception. Help!
She waited, hoping for a sign, a clue, anything.

Nothing. Her mind felt as blank as the message board in front of her. At a sound, she turned from studying the blank board to her mother, who now stood with her forehead against a cupboard door, her shoulders shaking.
She’s crying. Mom is crying
. DJ started forward and stopped. What could she do?

Quickly, she grabbed the box of tissues from the counter and crossed to her mother. “Here.” Her voice came as gently as it did with a flighty foal. “Come on, Mom. Let’s go into the other room.”

“I . . . I can’t h-handle any m-more.” Tears streamed down Lindy’s face as she pulled a tissue from the proffered box. “Robert will be so disappointed.” She blew her nose and wiped her eyes, but within a heartbeat, she was more tear streaked than before. And still the tears kept on.

DJ steered her to the sofa. “Sit.” When Lindy collapsed against the soft cushions, DJ took the place beside her. She set the box of tissues on her mother’s lap and picked up her shaking hand.

“How about if I call Gran?”

A violent shake of the head met that suggestion.
Robert? Should I call Robert?
No, he lived too far away.
God, you’re the only one near enough to help
. She rubbed her mom’s shoulder and gently tucked the hair behind her ear. How many times had Gran done the same for her? Loving pats and a soothing tone meant love more than anything else did to DJ. She made herself relax and let her mother cry.

Finally, the downpour changed to a shower, then to a meandering drop. After more nose blowing and eye wiping, Lindy at last laid her hands in her lap, a clump of tissues mounded beside her. She blinked and drew in a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh.

“I really don’t think I’m cut out to be a wife and a mother.”

“You already
are
a mother—my mother.”

“You’re right. Then being a wife is the problem.”

“No, a place for the reception is the problem.” DJ propped her elbows on her knees. “I think Gran and Joe might have an idea where else to look. If nothing else, we can have it in the church basement. Or in the covered arena at the Academy.”

“Great. I can see us all dressed up in our fancy clothes, making sure some horse doesn’t eat the wedding cake.”

DJ blinked. Her mother had made a joke, a good sign. “There’s got to be other places to have a reception.”

“You may not know this, but I called lots of other places before settling on this one. They were either too expensive or unavailable or . . .”

“Or what?”

“Or . . . I had already chosen the Carillion.” Lindy rubbed her tongue over her lower lip. “I think I gave the list to Gran.”

DJ could see the wheels start turning again. “You want me to call Robert for you and tell him the wedding is off?” DJ couldn’t resist the urge to tease her mother even if it might prove to be the dumbest thing she’d ever done.

Lindy rolled her swollen red eyes. “Not yet anyway.” She blew her nose again. “Maybe I just needed a good cry.”

“M-o-t-h-e-r.”

“Well, a cry sometimes releases pent-up stress and—”

The phone rang. DJ crossed to the table next to the wing chair and picked up the cordless phone. “Hi, this is DJ.”

“Hi yourself.” Robert’s voice sounded as tired as Lindy’s. “Your mom there?”

“I . . . ah, just a minute.” DJ buried the phone against her shoulder. “It’s Robert,” she whispered. “You want to call him back?”

Lindy shook her head. “No, I’ll take it.” She sniffed. “Is something burning?”

“Burning? Yikes, the meat loaf!” DJ handed the phone to her mother and dashed for the kitchen. Grabbing a potholder, she pulled open the oven. Smoke billowed up in her face, making her eyes sting and a cough erupt. At least there were no flames. She opened the window above the sink, gulping in the fresh air. From here, she could hear her mother talking in the family room, her tone sounding almost normal again. DJ returned to the open oven, where the apples she’d set in a bread pan now sat in a crust of smoking burnt sugar. All the water had evaporated.

She pulled the pan from the oven and set it on another hot pad. “I guess the apples don’t look too terrible if we don’t eat the black stuff,” she told herself as she turned off the oven and took out the meat loaf, now dark brown on the bottom. She placed the crusty baked potatoes on the counter along side of it. So much for a perfect dinner, but then this wasn’t turning into a perfect night anyway.

DJ went ahead and fixed her plate, taking it to the dining room. The two place settings now looked forlorn at the end and side of the long table. She thought of the meals eaten here with Gran and Gramps and Mom long ago, and lately with Robert and the boys. The room had seemed so full of life those other times, but now the silence hovered like a ghostly presence that snuffed out sounds.

Surely Robert could talk some sense into her mother.

But where
could
they hold the reception? The next phone call had to be to Gran, that was for sure. She would come up with an answer, like always. Of course, Gran came up with answers because she always prayed about them first. God sure seemed to listen to Gran’s prayers.

Did that mean He
didn’t
listen to hers? DJ thoughtfully poured ketchup on her meat loaf. No, God had answered her prayers many times, too—Gran would say all the time, adding that sometimes DJ just didn’t like His answers. So what was God saying now?

She heard her mother dialing the phone. From the conversation, DJ knew her mother and Gran were talking. She picked up her plate and fork and wandered into the family room, sitting in the wing chair. Her mother nodded to her and kept on talking. A frown would have meant DJ should leave the room.

When Lindy pushed the Off button and laid down the phone, she looked over at her daughter. “You were right. We . . .
I
won’t cancel the wedding. This is a challenge, not a conclusion.”

DJ could feel her smile widening with every word. “Way to go, Mom. You aren’t a quitter.”

“No, I’m not. And neither are you.” Lindy closed her eyes and shook her head. “Not that quitting didn’t sound real inviting a while ago.” She looked up again after studying her hands, clasped casually on her knees. “What is it that smells burnt?”

“The baked apples. The rest of the dinner is on the stove.” DJ could feel her appetite coming back. “You want me to fix you a plate?”

“I think I’ll go change first. I feel like a wrung-out dishrag. I’ll eat later and put the food away.”

“Guess that means I can get to my homework right away.” DJ took her plate back to the kitchen, then looked over her shoulder. “You okay?”

“I am now—or will be. I guess we could have the reception here or over at Gran’s if need be. So it would be crowded. So what?”

DJ and her mother walked up the stairs together, arms around each other’s waist.

Several hours later when DJ turned out her light, she went to stand at the window to watch the mist rainbowing in the streetlights. Weddings, floods, fires, new fathers—what else could happen?

The next afternoon, DJ met the new woman at the Academy.

“Put that pole back up.”

DJ turned from her teaching position at the far end of the arena where she had her three students circling to leave space for the jumper.

“I think she’s talking to you,” Angie Lincoln said as she trotted past DJ.

“Who?”

“That lady.”

“I said, put that pole back up.” The woman on the light chestnut horse flung the words over her shoulder as she cantered past and headed for another jump.

DJ signaled to the girls to keep circling and crossed the sandy space to set the rail back up on the standards.
Who does this woman think she is?
DJ swallowed the rest of the thought before she could get any more worked up than she already was. Stalking back to her class, she pasted a smile on her face.

“Okay, kids, lope now and watch your leads.” DJ felt unfriendly eyes drill a stare into her back. She heard another tick, but this time, there was no thud of a falling pole. She watched her students intently, making comments as needed and cheering them on. Krissie, her blue eyes glacial, kept sending icy looks in the jumper’s direction.

“Come on, kids, concentrate on your horse and what you are doing.” DJ let them make another round before signaling them to join her in the center of their circle. “Okay, you did good, like you always do. Good enough to move on. Let’s start working on backing up so we can begin opening gates pretty soon. I know you all plan on trail-riding, and that class calls for opening and going through a gate.”

Angie raised her hand. “I already know how to back up. Want to see?”

DJ nodded.

Angie pulled back on her reins. “Back.” She clucked at the same time. “Come on, back.” Her horse shook his head but did as asked. Backing slowly, he angled toward the horse on his left.

“Good. Anyone else?” The other two shook their heads.

DJ had them all dismount and showed them how to hold the reins and push against their horse’s shoulder, giving the back-up command at the same time. She helped each girl, reminding them all to praise their horses and pat them for doing right. After the ground work, they mounted, and again she helped each one, herself on the ground and her students in the saddle.

Sam’s horse kept shaking his head and playing with his bit. He did not want to back up for anything. DJ persisted, reminding Sam, “After squeezing, you have to lean forward slightly to open the door so he can back up.” The horse gave in and stepped back. DJ looked up at the grin on the girl’s face.

“See, you just have to be patient.”

“And stubborn.” Sam, short for Samantha, leaned forward and patted her horse’s neck. “Good boy.”

DJ smiled up at the girl. “You did a great job of keeping your cool, kiddo.”

“I’m learning.” Sam tightened her reins as her horse tried to go forward. “Whoa.”

When the lesson was over, DJ followed the girls to the barn to make sure they untacked their horses properly. She refused to even look at the woman still working her horse over the jumps, now with one of the other student workers adjusting the bars. Her tone held no more kindness than before.
Has the woman never learned to at least say please?