High Hurdles (7 page)

Chapter
•
9

“No, Jamie, don’t feed that to the pony.”

DJ spun around at the sound of Amy’s voice. The five kids at the pony party now seemed like a squadron. With one hand DJ snatched the pink flower from the little boy’s hand, and with the other she set him back five feet. Then she returned to putting the cowboy hat back on the little girl seated on Bandit.

“No, don’t want no hat!” The child jerked the Western hat off and threw it on the ground.

Bandit sidestepped, the better to see the flying object. DJ followed, one hand on the pommel and the other holding the little girl in place. Amy hung on to the reins, trying to calm the pony, her camera on a strap around her neck.

“Who ever came up with this harebrained idea?” DJ muttered through the smile she kept in place for the child’s benefit. “Okay, no hat. Now hang on to the saddle horn—this thing”—she placed the girl’s hand on the horn—“and I’ll lead you around. Then smile for Amy and you’ll get a picture to take home.”

The little girl stuck out her lower lip.

DJ led her around the drive. Bandit stopped at the halfway point to make manure.
Oops, should have brought a shovel
. DJ looked up at Amy, who shrugged her shoulders.

“I’ll take care of it in a minute.” Amy snapped the photo. The little girl smiled and waved. Afterward.

By the last rider, it seemed as though they’d taken fifteen terrors around the circle. At least no one had fallen off or slipped. Amy went up to the door to ask for a shovel.

“Time for cake and ice cream,” the hostess mother called when she answered Amy’s knock at the front door. Three children ran right through the pile of manure and into the house.

“Icky,” whined the grumpy rider.

“Oh no, my white carpet!” The mother glared at Amy. “I hope this washes out. We just had the carpet installed last week.”

“It will.” Amy mentioned a brand of cleaner her mother used. “I need a shovel, please.”

“You certainly do. And I hope you’re not planning on putting that mess in
my
garbage can.”

“I could put it on your flower beds, it’ll help—”

“I should say not. I’ll bring the shovel. And the carpet cleaner.”

Amy turned back to DJ and raised her hands.

By the time Amy had cleaned the carpet and DJ the drive, the kids had eaten their treats, opened presents, and were ready to ride again.

“No, dears, the pony has to go home now.” The woman smiled brightly as she handed DJ an envelope with their fee in it in exchange for the stack of photos. “Thank you for such a perfect party. I’ll be sure to recommend you to all my friends.”

DJ and Amy looked at each other, shrugged, and headed for home.

“Go figure.” Amy shook her head. “The way she talked at first I didn’t think she’d even pay us.”

“It must have been her first time giving a birthday party. She was pretty uptight.”

“Who wouldn’t be with new white carpet? My mom says she’s not getting new furniture and carpet till all us kids are grown and gone.” Bandit snorted as if in agreement.

“What a good boy you were.” DJ stopped to rub the pony’s neck. “But you shouldn’t take bites out of the flower bed.”

“How’d it go?” Hilary asked when they hung Bandit’s bridle on his peg in the tack room. She wiped the sweat off her wide brow with the back of her brown hand and pushed back tightly curled black hair that refused to obey a ponytail clip.

“Oh, it went.” By the time they finished telling their tale, Hilary had collapsed on the tack box, tears running down her face.

“You poor kids, talk about a party! Now that all the bad stuff has happened, the next one’ll be a cinch.” She rocked back with her hands around one knee. “You
are
going to keep going, aren’t you?”

“We have to. We signed people up.” Amy counted on her fingers. “We have eight more parties to go.”

“And that’s if no one else calls.” DJ squeezed her eyes shut. “Next time I have a good idea, someone shoot me, okay?”

“Don’t tempt me.” Amy grabbed DJ’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “I gotta get home. And remember, you’ve got company coming for dinner.”

DJ groaned louder but let herself be led from the building. “Well, at least the next party will be profit.”

“Unless we buy a pooper scooper. You know, like the ones they use at parades.”

“I think the Academy has one. I’ll ask Bridget if we can borrow it.” DJ mounted her ten speed. “At least I’ll be able to put money in my horse fund after Tuesday.”

When DJ got home, the table was set in the dining room with a jade green cloth and matching print napkins—in napkin rings no less. Gran’s good china and sterling silver were set for four. Green candles flanked a low arrangement of peach roses.

“Wow, does this look cool or what? What’s the name of that man who’s coming?”

“Joe Crowder, Captain Joe Crowder.” Lindy turned from arranging salad on separate plates.

“Right. He must be something pretty special. It’s not Christmas or Easter, is it?”

“You just hustle up and shower. And no jeans. In fact, a dress would be nice.”

“That’ll be the day.” DJ pulled a can of soda from the fridge.

“I don’t need that kind of attitude right now.” Mom swiped a hair off her forehead with the back of her hand.

“I mean, I don’t have a dress to wear.” Surely her mother had lost her mind.

“A skirt then.”

DJ groaned. “Skirts are gross.” After popping the can top, she took a long drink. “Where’s Gran?” Her mother hadn’t done all the cooking—had she? That would be bad.

“She’s changing.” Lindy wrapped the salad plates in plastic wrap and set them in the fridge.

“What are we having?” Her mother’s skill ran to hamburgers or spaghetti. If it didn’t come in a box, she couldn’t make it.

“Are you going to get ready or not?”

DJ wanted to say “not” but thought the better of it. Her mother didn’t look as if she was in the mood for any teasing. “I’m going, I’m going.”
She could at least have asked about our pony party,
DJ thought as she climbed the stairs.
Leave it to my mother not to ask. She’s more worried about a dinner party for a man she hardly knows than about her own daughter
. If she gave it some effort, DJ knew she could turn this evening into a full-blown pity party. “Wow, Gran, you look amazing.”

Gran spun away from studying her reflection in the full-length mirror at the end of the hall. “I hope so. Your mother spent a fortune on this new outfit for me. I feel as if I’m on the auction block or something.” She turned so the skirt swirled about her calves.

“That looks like something you might have painted.” DJ fingered the gauze fabric. “All swirly and all shades of blue. Leave it to Mom to find the perfect thing.”

Gran turned and placed her hands along DJ’s cheeks. “Thanks, darlin’. How did the birthday party go?” Gran laughed in all the right places as DJ retold the story. “Well, I never. And to think she made you girls clean the carpet!”

“Amy did that.” DJ patted her jeans pocket. “But at least all our bills are paid. Now we can make some money.”

Gran took one more glance over her shoulder toward the mirror. “Well, here goes nothin’.” She started toward the stairs. “Oh, my stars, where’s my mind today! DJ, there was another call for you. A lady wondered if you could come tomorrow. Her clown called with the flu. I put the number on your dresser.”

“Thanks, I’ll call her now.” DJ dialed, dollar signs dancing in her head.

She could hear a man’s voice in the living room by the time she descended the stairs. Her skirt had been too tight, so she had improvised with a pair of dress pants and a striped blouse. No T-shirt and jeans. She paused at the bottom stair. At least the guy knew how to laugh.

Hearing a man’s laugh in their house was sure strange. The pastor from their church had been their most recent male visitor, and that had been ages ago. His laugh hadn’t had the deep, happy sound of the man’s in the living room.

“Hi, darlin’,” Gran said when DJ walked into the room. She beckoned DJ to her side. “This is my granddaughter, Darla Jean. She’s a real promising artist, but her first love is horses.”

DJ barely kept herself from wincing.
Darla Jean.
Only her Gran, and sometimes her mother, got away with calling her that. She didn’t want this stranger calling her that. “Darlin’, this is Joe Crowder.”

“Well, Darla Jean, I certainly am glad to meet you.” The voice fit the man. He took up half the living room, or at least seemed to. Shoulders straight and square like a military man’s, a crew cut gone silver, and cerulean blue eyes.

“I’m glad to meet you, too. Mom said you like horses.”

“You’ll have to meet my best friend sometime. His name is Major. I’ve ridden him in the San Francisco Mounted Patrol for the last ten years.”

“What’s he like?”

“Thoroughbred-Morgan cross. Sixteen-three. He has to be big to carry me. White stripe down his face, two white socks. He’s a blood bay, the prettiest red you ever saw when the sun glints off his rump. Even has a scar on his right shoulder where he took a bullet meant for me.”

“Really?”

“You ever watched the mounted patrol in action?”

DJ shook her head.

“Then I’ll have to take you and Melanie to watch one of our drills.”

DJ almost looked around the room for the Melanie he’d referred to. “You mean Gran?”

“Dinner’s served.” Lindy stopped in the doorway.

DJ rolled her eyes so only Gran could see. The look clearly said what she thought of the formality. But when Joe Crowder tucked Gran’s arm in one of his and angled out his other elbow for DJ to do the same, she went along with it. Who was this guy, anyway?

She was wondering even more by the end of the meal. He’d had them all laughing at his tales of life in the mounted patrol. And the stories about his family. He had three kids, two sons and a daughter. The daughter had two children, including a girl who was only a year older than DJ.

“Robert, my oldest, is a widower like me. He has five-year-old twin boys.”

“That must have been really hard.” Gran reached across the space and laid her hand on his.

“It was. To lose two women in our family in one year.” He sighed. “I can’t wait for you to meet them. I know they’ll like you . . .” He cut off the sentence, but his eyes said the rest.

DJ dropped her fork. She’d read about talking with your eyes before, but now she was seeing it in action. The way those two were looking at each other usually meant a love scene coming up in the movies.

She glanced at her mother. Lindy wore a sappy look that said she was happy with the whole thing.

“Can I be excused? I . . . I’ll clear the table.”
Anything to get out of here.

“I’ll help you.” Mom pushed her chair back, too.

The other two in the room didn’t even seem to notice.

A cold hand slipped over DJ’s heart and squeezed.

Chapter
•
10

“That was disgusting!”

“I don’t know, I think they’re kind of cute.” Lindy opened the dishwasher door.

“Cute!” DJ spun around, catching a plate before it slid off the counter.

“Shhh, keep your voice down or they’ll hear you.”

“Cute. Gran and a man she just met are making goo-goo eyes at each other and
my
mother thinks it’s cute.”

“Careful, you said you’d wash the dishes, not break them.” Mom took over the sink detail. “You finish clearing the table.”

“I can’t go in there again.” DJ clamped her hands on her hips.

“Darla Jean Randall, for pete’s sake, grow up!” Lindy’s voice changed from teasing to angry. “We’ve had a very nice time tonight, and I don’t want to see you ruining it. Your grandmother is entitled to a little love in her life.”

“She had Grandpa.”

“And he died ten years ago. She has spent the last ten years taking care of you and me.”

“She has her art, you know. And her garden and books and church and . . .” DJ let the words trail off.

“And you. If I’d been a better mother, she wouldn’t have had to spend her life raising her granddaughter.”

“You said it, I didn’t.” The words popped out before DJ could trap her tongue. She headed for the dining room. Sometimes retreating made more sense than fighting.

There was no one there. DJ drifted over to the windows that overlooked the backyard. Gran was showing Joe her roses. The two of them didn’t have to stand so close together.

“Stupid birds, you don’t have to sing so loud, do you?” DJ covered her head with her pillow early the next morning. But when she closed her eyes again, all she could see was Gran smiling up at that old policeman as though he were the last man on earth. She flung back the covers and stomped down the hall to the bathroom. Maybe things would go better over at the Academy.

“Mornin’, darlin’, you’re up early.” Gran sat in her chair in front of the bay window, Bible in her lap and her hair in the normal disarray.

Maybe I’m blowing this all out of proportion.
The thought zipped through DJ’s mind like the hummingbirds at their feeders.
Gran was just being polite. Southern women are supposed to be polite and gracious. She’s trying to show me how to be the same way.
After popping a slice of wheat bread in the toaster, DJ pulled the pitcher of orange juice out of the fridge and poured herself a glass. She spread peanut butter on the toast and took her juice and toast into the other room, where she sat at Gran’s feet.

“So, what’s on your schedule for today?” Gran laid a hand on DJ’s head.

“The usual. Then we have that pony party this afternoon. You want some help in the garden when I get home?”

“Thank you, dear, but no thanks. Joe and I are going to a concert this evening.”

DJ jerked out from under the loving hand and twisted around to look up at her grandmother.
What a sappy look!
“You mean you’re going out with him—like on a date?” Her voice squeaked on the final word.

“I guess you could call it that.” Gran smiled. “He’s really a nice man, don’t you think?”

DJ gave a decidedly unladylike snort. So much for her grandmother’s training. “If you like old men, I guess.”

“Darla Jean, why I’m surprised at you.” Gran leaned forward and lifted DJ’s chin with gentle fingers. “Look at me, child. He’s only ten years older than I am.”

“But . . . but you’re not old. Why, you’re not even fifty yet.” DJ tried to look at her grandmother as if she were seeing her for the first time. All she could see was the love shining in her grandmother’s eyes. “You . . . you’re my gran. You’re beautiful.”

“Why, thank you, but fifty really isn’t far off.” Gran put her cheek next to DJ’s. “I love you more than words can ever say.” She straightened up. “If I only had time to sew a new dress.”

DJ pushed to her feet. “The one you wore yesterday sure made him look twice—if that’s what you want.” She left the room, her thudding heels leaving no doubt as to her opinion.

“You’re acting like a brat,” she scolded herself as she pumped up the hill. “Gran looks happy as a kid with a Popsicle, and you want to take it away from her.” The climb made her puff.
You can’t get along with your mother, and now you’re grumbling at Gran. Grow up!

After DJ had finished her beginners’ class, she entered the office to check the duties board. Bridget called her in for a conference, her expression serious.

“DJ, James said that you took the missing bridle and saddle.”

“He’s crazy! Why would I do that?”

“That’s what I asked him. He said you were going to sell it so you would have more money to put in your horse fund.”

“And you believed him?” DJ clenched her hands.
Why would Bridget believe James over her?

“I did not say that. I just have to follow up on every lead. We have never had a problem with things being stolen before.” Bridget leaned forward, her elbows on her desk. “So if you tell me you did not take it, then I will know for sure you did not.”

“I didn’t take that tack or anything else.” DJ forced the words through gritted teeth.
That . . . that lying, cheating, lazy, good for nothing creep!
“Is there anything else?” All she could think of was getting out of there, finding James and—what could she do to him that was bad enough?

“DJ, do not take this personally.”

But DJ was already out the door.

“What’s the matter, DJ?” Hilary tried to grab DJ’s arm and missed.

“Where’s James?”

“He just left. Said he had a headache.” She rolled her eyes. “You know James.”

“That lazy little creep, I’m gonna kill him.”

Hilary fell into step beside her. “What’d he do now?”

“Told Bridget I stole a new saddle and bridle.”

Hilary let out a bark of laughter. “He what? DJ, surely Bridget doesn’t believe him. Come on, be real!”

“I think he hates me.”

“So what? James hates everybody. Anyway, most everybody—around here at least—returns the favor.” Hilary plunked down on a bale of straw. “Here.” She patted the bale beside her. “You’ve just got to develop a thick skin. James is jealous because he’s been taking lessons longer and you ride better than he does.”

“But he has his own horse. He could ride all the time if he wanted, practice until he gets everything perfect.”

“DJ, that’s the way
you
do things because you have a goal. Like me with dressage.”

“You’re good.” DJ clasped her hands between her knees.

“I’ve worked hard to get there. And I’ll keep on working hard. Just like you do. So don’t let this get to you. James isn’t worth it.”

DJ nodded. As usual, Hilary made sense. “Thanks. It just seems to me that if you’ve got your own horse and you can ride whenever you want . . .”

“That everything should be all right.”

DJ nodded. “Wrong, huh?” She could feel her grin coming back.

“Wrong is right.” Hilary slapped DJ on the knee. “So let’s get back to work.” She got to her feet. “Okay, now?”

“Okay.” But inside, DJ thought only two things. How would she get even with James? And who had taken the tack? A new flat saddle and a good bridle—why, that kind of equipment was worth hundreds of dollars.

DJ and Amy trotted Bandit down the shoulder of Reliez Valley Road. If they didn’t hurry, they’d be late. The pooper scooper they had borrowed and tied to the saddle clapped against the pony’s side with each quick stride.

“We need a cart for him to pull all of our stuff in.” DJ puffed between words.

“Not a bad idea.” Amy jogged along, the lead strap in her hands. “Is Bandit used to the harness?”

“Got me! If he was, we could ride, too.” Down a hill and around the corner. “If he hasn’t been broken to the cart, he will be soon.”

“Hey, Mom, the pony’s here.” A little boy met them in the drive. His shriek made Bandit lay back his ears.

“Here we go again,” DJ whispered to Amy.

“No, this party’s going to go great. I’ve been praying about it.”

DJ felt a surge of guilt. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

“You should have prayed harder,” DJ grumbled when a little boy refused to get off the pony. Instead, he let out a scream that brought the mothers running to see who was attacking their kids.

“Now, Robert, honey,” the mother said soothingly. “You have to give the other children a turn.”

“N-o-o-o! I want another ride.” Robert clung to the saddle horn like a flea to a dog.

The mother smiled apologetically. “Maybe you could take him around one more time. I’m sure he’ll get off then. Won’t you, dear?”

DJ and Amy swapped raised-eyebrow glances. They knew they were thinking the same thing. If Amy’s brothers had tried something like that, her mother wouldn’t have let them get away with it.

The little girl who was next in line started to cry. The other mothers glared at Robert’s mom. DJ led Bandit once more around the circle.

“If you don’t get off when you get back, I’m gonna let this pony gallop down the street with you on his back, and you’ll go splat on the pavement.” She kept her tone low, muttering just loud enough so she knew Robert heard. When she looked at him, his eyes were wide. “I will, too.”

Robert jumped right off and ran to his mother, where he clutched at the back of her pants.

The rest of the party went as planned. All the kids rode and smiled for their pictures. The hostess even brought DJ and Amy glasses of icy lemonade.

“Thanks. We needed that.” DJ drank half of hers without stopping.

“Would you be interested in bringing the pony to the park one day and just letting kids ride like this? It wouldn’t be for a party.” The mother looked from DJ to Amy.

The two girls looked at each other and shrugged. “I guess so.” Amy spoke first.

“What would you charge for an hour? No pictures.”

DJ named a figure and Amy agreed.

“Good, I’ll get back to you.” The woman handed them an envelope and started to leave. “Oh, I’m sorry about the problem with Robert. He’s a bit spoiled.”

“He’s a
bit
spoiled!” The two girls hooted when they were a block or two away. They took the money out of the envelope and split it. With the bills already paid, this could become a very successful project.

“That much more for my horse fund.” DJ stuck the bills in her pocket. “Wish it were twice this much.”

“Or ten times.” Amy stopped trotting to retie the pooper scooper before it fell off. “You want to talk to Bridget about harness training Bandit, or should I?”

“Let’s do it together. There’s that harness buried in the tack room. That should fit him fine. I haven’t seen any carts around there though, have you?”

Amy shook her head. “Bridget will know of one.”

But Bridget was busy with a class when they got back to the Academy, so as soon as they’d given Bandit a good grooming, they jumped on their bikes to head for home.

“Gran? Gran?” DJ wandered through the house, calling. When there was no answer, she headed for the backyard. Gran’s minivan was in the drive, so she had to be around here somewhere.

“I’m out here.”

DJ followed the voice to the backyard. She could see Gran’s pink rear when she knelt to pull weeds from the flower bed. “I’m home.”

“Good.” Gran straightened up and wiped the back of her gloved hand across her forehead. “Would you like to bring us out some lemonade?”

“I told you I’d help you weed tonight.”

Gran rocked back on her heels. “I know. I was just too restless to paint anymore today.”

DJ gave her a look that questioned whether they’d better head for the hospital emergency room, but she turned and headed back for the kitchen without commenting. That in itself was a miracle, she reminded herself while pouring their drinks. How come it was easier to keep the lid on her mouth with Gran than her mother? Maybe Gran had changed her mind and was staying home from the concert.

“So, how was the party?” Gran sat cross-legged on the grass and reached up for her drink. Her wide floppy straw hat caught in the breeze and flipped back behind her.

DJ sank down beside her, not answering until she’d poured a few glugs down her thirsty throat. As she relayed the story of her day, she sneaked glances at her grandmother. It was clear that she wasn’t hearing a word.
Where is she?