High Hurdles

by Lauraine Snelling

  “You want to stay out here all night?”

  Major shook his head, and the droplets that had gathered on his mane sprayed her face.

  DJ tightened the reins to bring him to a stop. She wrapped the reins around her wrist, dug the tissue out of her pocket, and blew her nose. Major’s ears twitched at the honk, and he shifted his front feet. “Major, stand still.” Her tone cut like a P.E. teacher barking orders. Major laid his ears back and twitched his tail. But he stood. They circled the ring once more, this time the beat perfect—no gaining, no slowing. Controlled.

  “Why couldn’t you do that fifteen minutes ago?” DJ leaned forward to open the gate. Major raised his head and nickered at the male figure just coming out of the barn door. “Oh, sure, say hi to Joe and spray me. Some friend you are.” While she grumbled, DJ swung the gate open, kneed Major through, and swung the gate closed again. All the while, Major kept his eyes on the approaching figure.

  “How you doing, kid?” Joe Crowder, recently married to DJ’s widowed grandmother, stopped in front of them and stroked the bay’s nose. “How you doing, old buddy? Did I see you giving DJ a hard time? You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

  “Yeah, right. Sure he wouldn’t.” DJ leaned forward and stroked her horse’s neck. Joe had sold her Major when he had retired from the San Francisco mounted police, taking his horse with him.

  Joe rubbed Major’s ears, then down the white blaze. “He never did care much for rain all those years on the force. Can’t say I blame him.” Joe turned and walked beside them back to the barn. “You and Amy want a ride home?”

  “Do dogs bark?”

  “A simple yes would be fine.” His smile crinkled the skin around his blue eyes. “You look like a drowned rat.”

  “Gee, thanks.” DJ kicked her feet from the stirrups and dropped to the ground. “Ouch.”

  “Cold, huh?”

  “Y-e-s.” She caught her upper lip between her teeth. With the easy motions of long habit, she ran the stirrups up, unbuckled the girth, and swung flat saddle and pad off in one smooth swoop. Then, grabbing a grooming bucket, she led Major out to his stall in the covered but open pens. Joe’s sorrel Quarter Horse, Rambling Ranger, nickered a greeting, as did Josh.

  “Get a move on,” Amy said from Josh’s stall. “We’re supposed to be home by dark, remember?”

  “Joe’s giving us a ride.” DJ slipped the bridle off and fixed the blue web halter in place. “Thanks, GJ.” She nodded toward the filled hay sling and the measured grain in the feed bucket.

  “Any time, kid.” Joe picked up a brush and began grooming Major’s other side. “Your mother getting home tonight, or are you coming to our house?” DJ’s mother, Lindy, sold bulletproof vests, Glock guns, and other supplies to law-enforcement agencies around northern California. When she wasn’t doing that, she was working on getting her master’s degree. Lately, though, much of her time went to Robert, Joe’s son—and DJ’s soon-to-be stepfather. The thought of having a father around seemed strange to DJ because she’d never met her birth father, didn’t know who he was, and didn’t care to. After the wedding, she’d have brothers, too—five-year-old twin dynamos named Bobby and Billy. She had yet to tell them apart.

  “Mom said she’d be home, but I never know for sure until I see her or check for messages on the machine. Sure would be nice if she had dinner ready.” Only since Joe and Gran had married and Gran moved to a new home had DJ learned what it was like to be a latchkey kid. Often she cooked the evening meal for both her and her mother.

  Major munched his dinner with enthusiasm, sharing some with DJ through a slobbery snort in her face.

  “Ugh.” DJ brushed him away. “I love you, too, but sheesh.” She sneezed and clamped her brush between her knees to retrieve her tissue. “I should have brought a box full.” She blew her nose again and wrinkled her face. “If I’m catching a cold, I’ll—”

  “Don’t say that. Say, ‘I’m catching a healing.’ ” Amy slammed her gate closed and, bucket in hand, stopped at Major’s stall.

  “What?”

  “My mom heard a former Miss America talk about catching a healing instead of catching a cold. She said it works.”

  “Oh, sure. When my eyes run as fast as my nose and I sneeze till I can’t catch my breath, I’m supposed to say I’m catching a . . . a what?”

  “Healing, darlin’. Makes perfect sense.” Joe took the brushes out of her hands and dumped them into the bucket. He slapped Major a good-night and took DJ by the arm. “Hey, it’s worth a try. Of course, prayer is the first defense, but the two might work well together.”

  “Now you sound like Gran.” DJ let him lead her out of the stall. “Night, Major.” The big horse followed them and hung his head over the gate. DJ gave him a last pat before trotting off to catch up to the others. “AACHOOO!” The sneeze nearly blew her head off.

  “Repeat after me, ‘I am catching a healing,’ ” Amy chanted.

  “I ab cadching a coad,” DJ insisted. She wiped her eyes and breathed through her mouth. At least that part of her face worked like it should.

  “Stub-born,” Joe said as he joined the girls at the wide doors leading to the front of Briones Riding Academy’s long, low pole barn. The rain had turned to drizzle that sparkled like falling fireworks in the glow of the mercury yard light.

  “You two get your bikes, and I’ll bring the truck around.” Joe gave DJ’s shoulders a squeeze. “Hang in there, kid, and we’ll get you and your healing home.”

  Amy chuckled beside her. Her black hair, held back in a scrunchy like the one in DJ’s wavy blond hair, glistened in the light. “You sound worse all the time.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Yamamoto. How am I supposed to ‘catch a healing’ with you telling me how yucky I sound?”

  “Sorry. It slipped out. Hey, I’m just telling you what my mom said.”

  DJ felt like slugging her but knew it would take too much effort.

  With Joe’s help, they loaded the bikes into the back of the Explorer. Both girls climbed into the front so they could share the seat and the heater on the short ride home. After dropping off Amy, they drove three houses down and into the empty drive. The kitchen window showed dark.

  DJ groaned. Why couldn’t her mother live up to her promises for once?

  “Come on, let’s go see if there’s a message.” Joe got out and retrieved DJ’s bike from the back. He wheeled it up to the closed garage door. “Go open the door and let me in.”

  “All right.” DJ forced herself to leave the warmth of the car and head up the walk to the front door. The wind blew right through her Windbreaker and sweat shirt, knifing into her chest. The shock made her cough, which made her sneeze. By now, the tissue was too worn out to be any use. She jammed the key in the door, but it wouldn’t turn. “F-fiddle. D-double fiddle.” DJ sniffed, retried the key, and wished she could call her mother a few names. Why couldn’t she come home like she’d said? She shoved the key at the lock again. It wouldn’t even go in the slot.

  “Hey, hurry up over there.”

  “I’m trying.” DJ turned the key over. This time it slipped right in, the lock turning as smoothly as if she’d just oiled it. Always helps if you put the key in right. She brightened as she stepped over the threshold. Since her mother wasn’t home, she could go home with Joe and Gran. That would make her feel better. She trotted across the kitchen and punched the garage door opener by the back door. The blinking red light on the answering machine caught her attention as the garage door groaned its way upward.

  She punched the button on the machine. “Sorry, DJ, but I had an unexpected appointment. I know you won’t mind going to Gran’s. Call Joe and he will come to get you.”

  “No need for that, I’m right here.” Joe’s voice sounded loud in the stillness.

  “Let me change, and I’ll go home with you.”

  “Bring your school clothes and books, too, just in case you’re spending the night.”

  “Right.” DJ leaped up the stairs to h
er room and gathered her things. Amazing how much better she suddenly felt. She bounded back down to meet Joe at the front door.

  “You got everything?”

  “I think so.” They stepped out and as DJ turned to pull the door closed, the phone rang. “Ohhh.” She sighed and went back into the house.

  Picking up the phone, she tried to sound as pleasant as her mother had drilled her. “Hello.”

  “Hello, I’d like to speak to Darla Jean Randall, please.”

  “Speaking.” DJ cradled the phone on her shoulder. Who would be calling her? It was a man’s voice after all. And he certainly didn’t know enough not to call her Darla Jean. Only her mother could get away with that—and then only when she was mad.

  There was a pause, then, “Darla Jean, my name is Bradley Atwood. I am your father.”

  CHAPTER • 2

  A horse kick to the stomach couldn’t have shocked DJ more.

  “DJ, darlin’, what’s wrong?” Joe put an arm around her waist.

  When did Joe learn to sound so much like Gran? DJ leaned against him gratefully. She shook her head and tried to speak. Come on, DJ, this has got to be some sort of prank. She cleared her throat.

  “Wh-who are you really? Is this some kind of twisted joke?”

  “I am who I said. Bradley Atwood. Your mother and I . . . ah . . . went together when we were in high school.”

  “Went together?” The words blurted out before she could stop them.

  “Well . . . I guess it was more than that.” Whoever he was, he sounded uncomfortable. He sighed. “Look, Darla Jean, is your mother there?”

  “My name is DJ.” She wanted to shout at him, scream, slam the phone down. Instead she clipped each sound as if he were hard of hearing.

  “Oh, okay . . . DJ.” Now he sounded like an adult humoring a kid. He paused, waiting for an answer.

  DJ’s hand cramped from its death grip on the phone. She looked up to see Joe, questions written all over his face, along with concern. He mouthed, Can I help? She shook her head.

  “DJ, is Lindy there?”

  “So you remember her name.” The smart remark didn’t help DJ to feel any better.

  “Darla . . . ah . . . DJ, please.”

  “No, sir, she’s not here. I will tell her you called, though. Please call back later.” DJ set the receiver back in the cradle as if it were made of the finest eggshell. Only the focused action kept her from flinging it across the room.

  “DJ, who was that? Talk to me.” Joe clutched her shoulders in shaking hands.

  DJ looked up into his eyes. “That was my real dad—or so he said.”

  “Oh, Lord above, be with us now,” Joe breathed the prayer, then gathered her close.

  DJ leaned into his strong chest. Good thing he was there, or she would be a puddle on the floor. My dad. Shock made her shiver.

  Joe soothed her like he did the twins when one came to him with an owie. Gentle hands patted her back. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured. “DJ, it’s going to be all right.”

  Suddenly she pushed herself upright. “Who does he think he is, calling like that? Just like we saw him yesterday. The jerk!” She stamped her way around the kitchen. “I don’t need him. Mom doesn’t need him. He didn’t ever call or visit or anything. Why now? Who does he think he is, anyway?” She balled her hands into hard fists and pounded the counter. Feet stamping, arms waving, she circled the room again. “I don’t need a dad now.” She turned to Joe. “He didn’t care for fourteen years, for pete’s sake! Why now?”

  “I wish I knew.” Joe’s voice introduced a note of calm.

  DJ slammed the palms of her hands on the counter and stayed there, elbows rigid. “Why, Joe?” She raised stark eyes to his face. “Why?” she whispered again.

  “How about you let your mother deal with that? Any idea when she’ll be home?”

  DJ tried to remember. She had listened to the phone messages. Get with the program, she told herself.

  “Take it easy, kid, you’ve had a pretty major shock.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” She sucked in a deep breath and let it out. Leaning back against the counter, she absentmindedly chewed on the cuticle of her forefinger. When she realized what she was doing, she jerked it away. “Fiddle. Double, triple, and . . . and ten times fiddle!” Her hands cried out to do something. Slamming counters hurt. So instead, she rubbed the scar in the palm of her right hand.

  “Keep talking to me, darlin’. ”

  “You say ‘darlin’ ’ just like Gran.”

  “You mind?”

  DJ shook her head. “I like it.” She sighed again. “Guess there’s nothing I can do about this, is there?”

  “Pray. That’s all I can do. It’s the only thing that keeps me from finding out where this man lives and going there to beat the tar out of him.”

  Startled, DJ looked up. “You’d do that?”

  “Gotta use the skills I learned at the police academy in some way.” He grinned at her, then grew serious. “No, DJ, I wouldn’t touch him, no matter how much I think he deserves it. But I want you to know that anyone who hurts my family has me to deal with.” He jabbed a thumb at his chest.

  DJ studied the big man across the kitchen. “You know what? I’m glad you’re on my side.”

  “And I’m glad to be on your side. But let’s listen to your mother’s message again.”

  DJ shook her head. “I erased it, but I know she said she wasn’t sure when she’d be home. I guess my mind’s starting to work again.”

  “Okay, leave her a message, then let’s head for home. Melanie will be getting worried.”

  It still caught DJ’s attention when he called Gran, Melanie. All she’d ever been to DJ was Gran. “Gran will know what to do.” DJ paused. “Won’t she?” On the way out the door, she wrote her mother a note and attached it to the bulletin board with a stickpin.

  But Gran didn’t know what to do, and when Lindy finally came to pick up her daughter, the fireworks began.

  DJ watched her mother do much the same as she had—pace, yell, wave her arms. Now, sitting on the floor at her grandmother’s feet with Gran’s hand stroking her hair, she felt as if nothing could get to her. She leaned against her grandmother’s knees and sighed.

  “Do you have to call him back?”

  “Not in this lifetime.” Lindy clamped manicured hands on slim hips and spun around to face them. Her dark blond hair, each chin-length strand in perfect order, swung across her cheek. She hooked the curve of it over one ear, sparks flashing from her emerald eyes. The frown lines she fought so diligently deepened. “Well, Mother, what do we do now? You were the last one to talk with him.”

  “That was over thirteen years ago.” Gran kept her hand on DJ’s hair.

  “I know. And I thought the agreement was that I would never ask him for support and he would never ask to see his daughter.”

  “It was. You both agreed to that. You were two kids who’d made some less-than-perfect choices; you each wanted to get on with your life, to move forward without any anger between you.”

  “I remember.”

  “I know you do, darlin’, I just want to refresh your memory.” Gran looked to Joe, who nodded at her. “I think we got the better end of the deal by a long shot because we got Darla Jean. Brad’s missed out on a lot.”

  “Whose side are you on, Mother?” Lindy crossed to the sofa and sank down on it, resting her elbows on her knees. She still wore a cream-colored silk suit she had dressed in for work. “You aren’t saying I should call him back, are you?”

  “I’m saying we need to look at the whole picture and all the people in it. We should always treat others with the respect and love with which we want to be treated. You desperately loved Brad at one time, and he loved you the same.”

  “I know.” Lindy rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “We were so young.”

  DJ watched and listened as if this were the best movie ever filmed. And she was a part of it. This was her father they were ta
lking about. Now she understood why she’d never heard about him.

  “And now you’re adults.”

  A silence, heavy with meaning, filled the room.

  DJ tried to decide what she was feeling. Angry? Nope—or at least, not any longer. Scared? A bit. Curious? Big yes. She flashed a look up at Gran and received a loving one back.

  I am so lucky. The thought floated into her mind and took hold. She looked up to see Joe watching her. A nod accompanied the gentle smile that barely turned up the corners of his mouth. DJ knew down deep in her heart that he wore the look of love. And it was for her.

  “DJ, did you write down his number?”

  DJ jerked back into the conversation and stared at her mother. Number? Whose number?

  “Did you get Brad’s number, darlin’?” Gran whispered.

  DJ shrugged. “Ah . . . no. I asked him to please call back later. Sorry, I just wasn’t thinking straight.”

  Lindy started to say something, then just shook her head. “Guess I wouldn’t be thinking too clearly in a situation like that, either.”

  DJ looked at her mother as if she’d left a marble or two at work. A few minutes ago, she was yelling all over the place. Now she’s actually being nice. What’s up?

  “That answers it, then. We wait until Brad calls back.” Gran gave DJ a last pat and got to her feet. “Good thing I turned off that oven, or we’d all be eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner.” She took DJ’s hand and pulled her up. “Come on, you can set the table.”

  After dinner, DJ and her mother drove home without saying a word. When they got to the house, Lindy checked the answering machine, but the red light lay dark. She sighed. “I’m going to call Robert. Darla Jean, I know this is hard for you. I’d give anything if Brad hadn’t called, but he did, and we’ll deal with it. Please don’t worry about it, okay?”

  DJ nodded. She kept thinking of the verse Gran had whispered in her ear as she went out the door. Gran had shared it before. It was one of those in Romans DJ had underlined. In all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. She’d never quite understood the last part, but the first seemed pretty clear: God could bring good out of everything.