In the morning she found a note on the counter.
“Sorry for the way I blew up at you. How about going out for dinner tonight; maybe we can do some real talking. I should be home early. Love, Mom.”
DJ read the note a second and third time. Her mother apologizing? On one hand she felt she could touch the stars, on the other, an ant belly would be higher off the floor than her feelings. She grabbed a couple of food bars and an apple, stuffing them into her backpack along with a can of soda. At least now she could stay at the Academy longer. The house could stay empty all day.
“Bridget wants to see you,” Hilary called when DJ walked into the barn.
“What for?”
“How should I know?”
“Oh, okay, thanks.” DJ threw the words over her shoulder, already halfway to the office.
Bridget Sommersby, Academy owner and former Olympic contender, sat at her oak desk behind piles of papers, magazines, file folders, and a frayed girth strap. The pained look on her face and the ledger in front of her said she was working on the books. Her feelings about the bookkeeping end of her business were well known to all who knew her.
“You wanted me?” DJ knew that if she was in trouble, bookkeeping time was not a good time to get called on the carpet. This was worse than the principal’s office.
“Hi, DJ, sit down. You saved me.” The smile on Bridget’s square-jawed face told DJ she was not in trouble. Bridget stuck the pencil she’d been using into her slicked-into-a-bun blond hair. “How are things going?”
DJ sank down into the wooden chair by the desk. “Going.”
“That bad, huh?” At DJ’s nod, Bridget pulled the pencil back out and tapped the eraser on the desk. “How much longer do you have in jail?”
DJ felt her heavy mood begin to lighten. “A week. Guess I’ll live through it.”
“Not riding is rough.” Bridget leaned back in her swivel chair. She let the pause lengthen while she studied DJ over the tops of her horn-rimmed half glasses. “How would you like Patches back?” She raised a hand to suggest DJ not leap out of her chair. DJ settled back on the edge of her seat. “Hilary has already started classes at Diablo Valley College and just does not have the time to train and work anything but her own mount right now. So, while I agree with your mother on the importance of discipline, as an employer, I need you to work Patches. I take it this would not cause you unhappiness?”
“Not in the least.” DJ could respond formally when needed. But she couldn’t disguise the bounce of pleasure that rocked the chair.
“Fine, here is the training program I have set up.” Bridget handed a sheet of instructions across the desk. “Hopefully Amy will be back soon, because I would like you to work with Patches an hour a day at least—for now. His owners want him ready for their young son to ride. Mrs. Johnson plans to take lessons once a week on him, too, after school starts.”
“Wouldn’t the boy do better on a pony at first? Maybe like Bandit? Patches is pretty big.” DJ sat on her hands so she wouldn’t bite her nails.
“True.” Bridget nodded. “That is a good suggestion. I will talk to the McDougalls. Maybe exchange some board for using Bandit as a schooling horse.” The phone at her right hand rang. “Talk to you later.”
DJ was out the door almost before Bridget answered “hello.” She got to ride again! It felt as though she hadn’t been on a horse for a hundred years or more.
She rushed through her assigned stalls, making sure each horse got its required care, but not spending her normal amount of time scratching ears and giving love pats. She left Patches till last.
“Howdy, Patches, old boy. You ready for some training?” The big dark bay snuffled her hair, then rubbed his forehead against her shoulder. “You’re just a sweetie, you know that?” DJ leaned down to retrieve two brushes from the bucket, one for each hand. “Let’s get you all shined up and ready to work.” She kept up a running monologue, her tongue moving in rhythm with her hands while she brushed, combed his tail, and picked hooves. The white splotch between his eyes gleamed white in the dim light.
“You’re going to make a real flashy show horse someday, you know that?” She finished by wiping down his face with a soft brush. She dropped the pick and brushes back in her bucket and set it outside the stall door. Once he was saddled and bridled, she led him out and trotted him over to the ring, to mount inside the gate. Just swinging her leg over the Western saddle and settling into the seat felt like coming home. Even though DJ would rather ride English, her specialty, Patches’ owners had requested Western training, at least for now. So Western it was.
She started the neck-reining review, turning him first in circles to the right and then the left, followed by figure eights. Patches let his displeasure at the slow pace be known as they moved from a walk to a jog. Instead of an easy-on-the-rider jog, he wanted to keep up a bone-jarring trot.
“Easy, fella.” DJ repeatedly pulled him down. “Until you can manage this, you can’t go any faster.” When he refused to follow the figure-eight pattern, she brought him to a stop. He wasn’t happy with that, either, and he showed it by jigging to the side.
“You know, your manners leave a lot to be desired.” The gelding tossed his head, jangling the bit, and stomped his front feet. DJ kept him in place. “I think tomorrow we’ll put you on the hot walker so you can work some of this off before our training time.” Patches snorted and sighed, as if giving up.
“Good fella.” This time he went through his paces without a scolding.
“You are very good with him, DJ.” Bridget had stopped to watch without DJ noticing. “I agree, putting a beginning rider up on him could cause some real problems.”
“Whoever green-broke him let him get away with murder.” DJ brought the horse to a stop in front of Bridget, who was leaning on the aluminum rail.
“He likes to run, that is for sure.” Bridget reached out and stroked the gelding’s nose. “But he will catch a judge’s eye in the ring.”
DJ leaned forward and stroked the now-sweaty neck. “That’s what I told him. Okay, fella, back at it. Ready for a lope? A nice, easy rocking-chair lope?”
“Good luck.” Bridget pushed away from the fence.
Half an hour later, Patches still fought the restrictions. He did not want to lope, he wanted to run. DJ dismounted and led him over to the barn, where she reached for a lead shank to snap onto his halter.
“Here, I’ll hold him.” James took the reins.
“Hey, James, thanks. You see what a pill he is?” DJ entered the tack room and returned with a running martingale. She undid the cinch and slipped the loop over it, settling the leather between Patches’ front legs. Then she slipped the reins through the rings and checked to make sure all the adjustments were correct.
“That should help you with him.” James stroked the horse’s shoulder and helped adjust the leather straps.
“At least he won’t be able to toss his head around.” DJ patted the gelding’s nose. “Sorry, fella, but you asked for it.”
“I’ll get the gate.” James started across the dusty parking area.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone new is living in that boy’s body.” DJ swung aboard while muttering to no one in particular.
“You got it.” Hilary led her mount into the sunlight. “You sure did work a miracle with that kid.”
“Me?” DJ stopped herself from signaling Patches to move forward. She snapped her jaw closed.
“Well, he was buggin’ you the worst, and then you worked at becoming his friend.”
“I did?” DJ looked at Hilary as if maybe she’d gotten straw on the brain or something.
“Just a shame he’s leaving.”
“I know. I wish he weren’t. Well, at least he’ll be here for the Labor Day show.” DJ thought about Hilary’s comments while she rode across the parking lot and into the arena.
“Thanks for helping me, James. You gonna work Gray Bar now?”
“Yeah. After I finish m
y stalls. You got time to coach me on the V-bend for the trail class? She really hates that.”
DJ swallowed a boulder of shock. James was asking for help. Wait till she told Gran! And here she’d laughed and groaned at Gran’s suggestion to pray for James.
Patches stopped flat in his journey around the ring. He didn’t like the martingale. DJ kept him at a jog, legs firm and whip in hand. Finally, after three circuits, the horse settled down and let out a sigh of defeat. Immediately, DJ nudged him into a lope. At first he tried bolting into a gallop, but the firm hand on his reins wouldn’t allow that. And he couldn’t get his head up. Sweat popped out on his neck, staining the smooth hide nearly black.
When he finally made two circuits of the arena at a gentle lope, DJ eased him back to a jog, then down to a walk. “Good boy. You might be stubborn, but you’ll make it.” She walked him around a few more times to help cool him down, then stopped to watch James work the parallel bars laid in a V formation in the center of the ring.
“Don’t let her get so excited,” DJ called out. “Make her stand in one place until she calms down. When you tense up, she gets tense.”
James nodded.
DJ could see him unclench his jaw and his hands on the reins. When he settled down, so did Gray Bar.
“Good. Stay relaxed. Now, easy with your aids on both hands and legs. Use small motions, but be consistent. You can do it.”
James backed Gray Bar into the first side of the V. When they reached the point, they stopped.
“Good. Pat her. Tell her she’s wonderful. You’re doing fine.”
With his left leg pressing against her side and the reins signaling to reverse, Gray Bar swung her rump around the sharp turn and continued backing out the opposite leg of the obstacle. When they stood free, James threw his arms around his horse’s neck.
“We did it! Didn’t tick one pole. First time ever.”
DJ felt elation bubbling up. To see James so happy made her want to leap and dance. “I told you you could do it.” Her bounce in the saddle made Patches sidestep. “Sorry, guy. Okay, James, now you and Gray Bar know what it feels like. Do it again, exactly the same.” When James settled at the beginning again, DJ leaned forward, hands on her pommel. “You watch this, Patches, ’cause you’re going to be doing the same thing pretty soon.”
When DJ finally left for home, afternoon traffic was already increasing the car count on Reliez Valley Road. The sun beat down, hot and dry. For a change, the only breeze was created by her moving bike.
“Hey, DJ.”
DJ hit the brakes. Amy waved and called from her bedroom window. DJ stopped at the bottom of the upward-sloped drive. “You finally better?”
“I’ll be right down.”
A moment later, with black hair flying, Amy leaped down the concrete steps and across the lawn.
“Yuk, you look awful.” DJ sat with her feet on the ground, holding the bike upright, still on the street. Technically, she wasn’t at Amy’s house. It wasn’t as though DJ had called to her. “When you coming back to work?”
“Probably tomorrow. I’m all scabbed over now—”
“You can say that again.” DJ could feel her own smooth skin crawl at the sight of the scabs all over Amy’s face and neck. “You had a bad case, didn’t you? You gonna have scars?”
“I hope not. I didn’t scratch any on my face. Mom gave me gloves to wear at night, and I’m putting Vitamin E on ’em to help stop the scarring. Chicken pox is the pits.”
“Yeah, and you never even have any zits.” DJ fingered the prize she’d discovered on her chin that morning. “Think you can do the pony show tomorrow?”
Amy shook her head. “Sure, and scare all the kiddies away. I asked John. He said he’d go with you. But we owe him big time—and you know what that means.”
“Ugh, paper route some morning when it’s still dark.”
“You got it.” Amy shook her head. “But I didn’t know what else to do.” She lifted her shirt to show her midriff. “How about this for gross?” Spots covered her tanned skin.
“Pretty bad.” DJ put one foot back on a pedal. “I better get going. If I don’t get something to drink, I’ll faint.”
“And I need to get out of the sun. See ya in the morning.” Amy spun away and headed for the house. Her little sister, Becky, waved from the doorway.
DJ waved back and pedaled the block to her house. She laid her bike by the garage and unlocked the front door. The empty smell struck her in the face. Not even the refrigerator hummed in the stillness. She sighed, dumped her backpack on the counter, and went out to the garage to put her bike away. There would be nothing out of place tonight to make her mom mad again. They were going out for dinner—and not for fast food, either.
After chugging a glass of water, she nosed in the refrigerator and pulled out stuff for sandwiches. Dumping it all on the counter, she crossed the room to check the answering machine for messages.
“Sorry, DJ, but an unexpected appointment came up, and I have to meet with the client tonight. Not sure what time I’ll be home, but it’ll probably be late. Let’s plan on dinner out tomorrow night.” DJ stabbed the Erase button.
If only she could erase the hurt as easily.
CHAPTER • 3
Wasn’t Gran ever coming home?
That night, DJ pretended she was asleep when her mother knocked on the bedroom door. She heard the knob turn and the door open, but she lay on her side under the covers as if zonked to the world. Serves her right, she thought when she heard her mother sigh. The door closed with a soft click.
In the morning another note lay on the counter. After reading it, DJ crumbled it up and threw it in the trash. Tonight she didn’t have time to go for dinner. And maybe she’d never have time again.
“You look like you lost your best friend, and I’m right here. What’s up?” Amy leaped on her bike to join DJ in the pedal up the hill.
“Nothing.” Eating worms was sounding like a possibility. Fat worms, skinny worms, guess I’ll go eat worms. The song ran through her head.
“Hey, you don’t have to bite my head off. I just got out of prison myself.”
“You look funny with that hat on.”
“Pardon me for living. My mother said that if I wanted to work, I had to wear this straw number out in the sun. My Stetson doesn’t have a wide enough brim.” Amy shook her head so the floppy straw brim did what it did best—it flopped, then flew up in the wind.
“You’ll scare the horses.” DJ could feel her good humor coming back. She crested the hill and stopped at the stop sign. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Amy puffed to a halt beside her. “So why play the grouch?”
“My mother couldn’t be bothered to come home in time to take her daughter out to dinner last night like she’d promised, that’s all.” DJ pushed off again. “No big deal.”
The wind felt good on her face when she coasted down the hill to turn into the Academy drive. And now that she’d dumped her gripe on Amy, she could even smile up at a big crow scolding them from a Eucalyptus tree. How come she could be so up one minute and down in the pits the next? Maybe it was PMS. Lindy always blamed half her bad moods on it. DJ coasted to a stop and leaned her bike against the barn in its usual place. Another question to ask Gran—if and when she ever came home.
DJ hurried through her chores at the Academy. Fast brushing and slinging dirty shavings in record time was becoming a habit. She couldn’t work Patches until after her class of beginners. “Okay, let’s hustle.” DJ went down the line, hurrying her girls along.
“DJ, when we going up in Briones again?” Angie, a chronic asthma sufferer, stopped brushing her horse to ask.
“I cleared Friday with Bridget. We’ll head out right after our regular class. I told everyone last week.”
“I wasn’t here.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I should have called.” DJ turned to the girl’s pregnant mother standing off to the side. “Can Angie come?”
“That’l
l be fine. Then she can wash her horse in the afternoon to be ready for the show.” Angie’s mother laid a hand on her big belly. “This baby’s due anytime, so we’re just going day by day. My neighbor says she’ll bring this daughter of mine down to ride if I’m in the hospital.”
“Great. Okay, kids, let’s get to work.” DJ trotted ahead of them to slide the gate open. “Walk to the right please.”
All three students grinned at her as they rode into the arena and did as she asked.
“Okay, backs straight but relaxed. Come on, Krissie, keep those reins even. Neck rein to the left—good. Now back to the right.” The class proceeded as usual, only this time they were gearing up for a show. DJ treated them just as a judge would, ordering a walk, jog, back to a walk, lope, and reverse and repeat. When they were finished, they lined up in the middle. She walked down the line, inspecting the horses and riders, trying to keep a straight face.
She had them practice picking up their ribbons and leaving the arena. At the end of the hour, she motioned them into the shade of the roof. “You did good. I’m really proud of you. Angie, you gotta keep him on his toes. He’ll go to sleep on you if you let him. Sam, remember, when you come up too close on another horse, turn a circle into the ring and come around again so you have plenty of room. Now, all of you, those saddles and bridles need to be so clean they shine. Angie, your horse is due for new shoes.”
“Again?” Angie leaned on her saddle horn. “There goes my birthday money.”
“The farrier will be here tomorrow. You want me to put your name on the list?”
“I guess.” Her sigh could be heard clear into San Francisco.
“Okay, let’s get ’em put away. Remember to bring your lunches with you on Friday, packed in saddlebags if you have them, and in smash-proof containers.”
“We know.”
“Just reminding you. And, Angie, make sure you bring your beesting kit.” DJ held the gate open and let them file out. Their mothers were already waiting.
Training Patches took up the rest of the morning. She had to fly home to get ready for the pony party. It wouldn’t do to go in her grungy clothes. And besides, she needed a shower. Even she could tell the BO wasn’t coming from the horses.
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