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?
“And so I bopped Amy on the head to make her shut up, and . . .”
“That’s nice, dear.” Gran sighed.
DJ tried to follow Gran’s gaze to see what was so interesting. Grass. Flowers. Pretty, to be sure, but . . .
DJ tried again. “Then I slapped the little kid upside the head . . .”
“Good.” Gran handed DJ back the glass. “You want to finish weeding? I think I’ll go take a shower and get ready.” The older woman rose to her feet and drifted over to the French doors off the deck.
DJ stared after her for a moment before slamming the glass down on the lawn. Jerking weeds out of the ground was probably better than jerking the hairs out of a certain policeman’s head. When she stabbed herself on a hidden thistle, she said a word she was glad Gran wasn’t around to hear. Maybe getting a horse wasn’t her biggest problem after all.
CHAPTER • 11
“You lying little—little zit!” At the moment DJ couldn’t think of anything worse. “I could pound you so far into the dirt, not even your hair would show.”
“You and who else, jerk face?” James stood plastered against the stall wall. Six inches shorter than DJ but snarling like a cornered bobcat, he traded insult for insult. “You think you know everything, cat eyes.”
DJ clamped her hands to her sides, knowing that if she touched him, she would pound until . . .
“What is going on here? DJ! James! Both of you, out of that stall this instant.”
“But she . . .”
“I do not want to hear it. Up to the office! Now!”
DJ could feel the flames burst from inside and turn her skin to fire. Bridget never tolerated fighting on the grounds. And here DJ had been right in the middle of one! With James. She shot him another murderous glare, spun around, and stomped her way to the office. She could hear James behind her trying to make excuses. It wouldn’t do any good. Bridget did not accept excuses. If you blew it, you better admit it. Thoughts raged inside her.
What kind of self-discipline lets a creep like James get through? If you can’t control your anger over a stupid thing like this, how can you handle the stress of big-time competition? DJ tried to ignore the question, but the guilt that rode her shoulders felt like a pair of Percherons.
She straightened her spine and crossed her arms over her chest when Bridget walked in, trailed by James. DJ glared pitchforks at him, tines first. “I’m sorry I let him get to me like that.” She forced the words from between clenched teeth.
Bridget nodded.
DJ stood even straighter and dropped her arms to her sides. Bridget’s look said she’d better try again. Why is Bridget picking on me? After all, James started it. DJ dug deeper. She could feel the heat on her face, as surely as if she were standing in front of a roaring fire. “I . . . I’m sorry I fought like that. I should have been able to control my temper.” She breathed a sigh of relief. The slight softening of Bridget’s mouth meant she’d passed.
“James.”
James slouched in a chair, arms across his chest, refusing to look at DJ. Or Bridget. He seemed to be studying a dirt spot on his jeans.
“James.” The word cracked like a whip.
“Sorry.”
Sure, thought DJ. You really look sorry. Instantly her mind flashed to herself. Was she sorry? Truly sorry? Or did she just want to get back in Bridget’s good graces? The urge to chew on her thumbnail made her hand twitch. But then she’d get a look from Bridget for that. Instead, she bit on her lower lip.
The silence around her waited as if it were alive.
James squirmed, twitching first one shoulder and then the other.
With a rush of surprise, DJ felt sorry for him. He was having a harder time apologizing than she was—and she had hated every minute of it.
“I’m sorry I started the fight with DJ.” The words burst out.
“Then there’ll be no more incidents like this?”
Both DJ and James shook their heads.
“Consider yourselves both on probation. Any more such displays and you’ll suffer the consequences.”
DJ could hardly hear the words, even though she saw Bridget’s lips moving. James had admitted he provoked the fight! That took guts. More guts than she’d thought he had. She watched him nod and walk out the door.
“DJ.” DJ stopped in her tracks.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I expected better of you.”
“Me too.” But Bridget’s words cut into DJ’s heart.
“Is there something going on that you would like to tell me about?”
DJ shook her head. Why would Bridget care that Gran had gone out with Joe five times in the last week? And that DJ had had a knock-down drag-out fight with her mom? And that Amy and everyone else but her got to ride and show this summer? “I better get back to work.”
“If I can help in any way, I would like to.” The words followed DJ out of the office. Why was she having trouble seeing the writing on the duty board? She dashed a hand across her eyes. Must be allergies. There’s too much dust around here.
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