Major greeted her with a nicker that could be heard the length of the roofed stalls. Rain drummed steadily on the corrugated fiber glass sheets overhead. Only the lights strung along the ceiling beam kept the dusk out of the stalls.
“Hi, fella. Sure glad someone is happy to see me.” She dug half of a horse cookie out of her slicker pocket. “I saved this for you.” She sneezed and hunted for a tissue.
Major took his treat and munched, nosing her face and shoulders at the same time. Alfalfa grain mixed with molasses smelled good to DJ, but horse smelled even better. She inhaled the horsey perfume and leaned her forehead against Major’s neck. Joe had already cleaned the stall and given Major a good grooming. If I hadn’t fooled around with Patches, I would have been here doing my own work. That dumb horse. I better remind Mrs. Johnson to put him on the hot walker. DJ sighed and rubbed her head again. If this was what migraines felt like, no wonder her mother was a bear at times.
“Come on, fella, let’s get going.” She snapped the lead shank on to his blue nylon halter and, unhooking the gate, led him through.
Joe met her halfway down the aisle as he returned from working Ranger. “You okay, kid?”
“I will be.”
“Heard you took a fall.”
“Yeah. Later, okay?”
She could feel Joe’s gaze drilling into her back as she led Major to the tack room. The girls were gone and the evening hush that came just before the adults arrived had settled on the barn. DJ put her arms around Major’s neck and leaned against him. His warmth felt wonderful as it penetrated through her clothing. “What would I do without you? You big sweetie, you.”
Major turned and nudged her shoulder as if to say, Come on, let’s get riding. DJ hugged him again and went to get her tack. If riding Major didn’t make her feel better, nothing would.
“You want to talk about it?” Joe asked on the way home.
“I’m fine.” DJ dug at the snag on her cuticle.
“Sure, and I’m Madonna.” Amy gave her a sour look.
“Just bug off, will ya?” The moment she said them, DJ wished she could snap the words back into her mouth. She could feel the looks Amy and Joe were swapping. No one dared to say anything more to her. Amy thanked Joe as she quickly hopped out of the truck.
“You want to come home with me?” Joe asked.
DJ shook her head. The dark house would fit the way she felt. “No, I think I’ll just go to bed.”
“DJ, did you get hurt out there?”
She shook her head. How could she tell him that she felt like yuck? She could feel the heat on her cheeks. He was a guy, for pete’s sake. She needed Gran or her mother, and neither one of them was here. She felt like bawling. How stupid!
“I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride.” She bailed out and dashed up the sidewalk, waving over her shoulder. She entered the kitchen to find the red eye on the answering machine blinking.
Did she dare ignore it? Habit and her mother’s drilling made her punch the button. Message one: “I’ll be home later, I have a pile of paper work to clear up here.” Message two: “Sorry you’re not there, Darla Jean and Lindy. I will call back later.” DJ recognized the voice immediately. This time, Mr. Brad Atwood gave a phone number and invited them to return his call.
“I don’t need you,” she growled at the phone. She punched the Save button hard, as if trying to poke a hole in the machine. “You didn’t need me all these years, and now I don’t need you.”
DJ stormed up the stairs and, after downing some ibuprofen in the bathroom, shucked her clothes and crawled into bed. Her wrist throbbed. If she never had another day like today, it would be too soon.
CHAPTER • 5
DJ’s pride turned out to be the only lasting injury. Having to apologize for being a jerk the day before didn’t make it better.
Amy shrugged. “Forget it. I knew you weren’t your usual self. You were crazy.” She sat her Western saddle down on its horn by her stall and gave Josh a pat on the nose. “See you in the ring.”
“You nut!” DJ called over her shoulder. One good thing about riding English, the saddles were lighter. She opened the door to Major’s stall, pushing him aside so she could squeeze in. “Hi, guy. Looks like Joe’s been here.” Major nuzzled her pocket. “I know, you need a treat.” She dug out a carrot and stroked his forelock while he chewed. “You are so cool.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Joe stopped at her stall. Ranger nickered in the next box. “I’m coming, buddy.”
Joe saddled the gelding and rode into the covered arena with DJ. Major pricked his ears, aware of everything around him, and settled into an easy trot that didn’t even require posting. DJ could feel herself relax. Riding or even working with Major was as different from her time with Patches as birds from bumblebees.
“You’ve really been working with him,” DJ said with a nod toward Ranger.
“Every afternoon. Except today.”
“What was today?” DJ leaned forward and stroked Major’s neck.
“I . . . ah—well, I checked up on Bradley Atwood.”
“You what?” Major snorted at DJ’s shift in position. “Easy, fella.”
“I had a friend look him up in the computers, that’s all. He has a clean record, owns quite a bit of land up in Santa Rosa, and has a sizable bank account.”
DJ stopped Major so she could focus on what Joe was saying. “You really ran a check?”
Ranger sidestepped, wanting as always to be moving. “Yes, and your grandmother is not happy with me—or at least, that’s what she claims.”
“I bet. Why’d you do it?”
“Just to be safe.” Joe nudged Ranger forward.
“Well, I’ll be.” DJ stroked Major’s neck and loosened her reins. Joe was watching out for her. Major settled back into his trot, and they circled the ring. When he was warmed up, she signaled a canter. If only they were riding up in Briones. Since the rain had begun—a hundred years ago, it seemed—she and Amy hadn’t ridden up in the hills.
DJ slowed the pace and rode with Amy awhile, then with Hilary. “This is like warming up before a show,” DJ said with a grin.
“Yep, only without the pressure. You missing jumping as much as I do?” Hilary asked.
“Yeah, but have you looked out at that arena? Pure slop in spite of all the sand.”
“I know. Maybe we could move the jumps in here. At least a couple of them.”
“Bridget won’t go for that.”
“She did one year when it was like this. I’ll ask her tomorrow. How’s the dressage coming?” Hilary ran a loving hand over her horse’s mane, smoothing an errant strand.
“Haven’t started. Bridget’s been gone and now that we’re without any extra arenas, she asked if I would wait to begin. I’ve been working Major on the flat. He sure learns fast. Faster’n I do.”
“You’ll get it eventually, but it’s not like jumping. Dressage takes lots and lots of drilling.”
“Sounds like what I’m doing with jumping, only without ever being airborne.”
Hilary’s teeth showed extra white against her dark skin. “You and I like the same things. But, hey, I’ve got to get home. Tests tomorrow.” She lifted a hand in a wave. “See ya.”
“Yeah, later.” DJ took Major down to the far end of the arena and began working him in a tighter circle. She might as well work him on bending. You could never do too much of that.
“See you tomorrow,” Joe said when they reached her house. “I see the boys are here.”
DJ groaned. “That means I’m late.” She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Or they’re early.”
“Have fun.”
Each twin glommed on a leg when she entered the house. DJ reached down and hugged first one, then the other.
“We was waiting for you.” “Daddy said you could come help us pick out the pizza.” “I want to ride.” “How’s Major?” The boys had a habit of talking on top of each other. Even after all these months, DJ still couldn’t tell
Bobby and Billy apart. Blond, curly hair topped both round faces, identical blue eyes smiled up at her, and they never stood still long enough to see if one was taller or not. To save time, DJ had nicknamed her soon-to-be brothers the Double Bs.
“Okay, guys, give DJ a chance to breathe.” Robert Crowder, a slightly taller and good deal younger version of his father, Joe, came to her rescue. “I thought maybe we would just eat out. What do you think?”
“Fine with me. Where’s Mom?”
“She called from her car—should be here in a minute or two.” The cellular phone in her mother’s car was a gift from Robert. He said he liked knowing she was safe, especially with all the time Lindy spent on the road.
“Good, I’ll change then.”
“We help you.” The boys took her hands. “Hurry, we’s hungry.”
“Nope, guys, young ladies don’t need little boys to help them dress.” Robert tucked a squirming body under each arm and headed for the family room. “I know there’s a favorite book of yours here.”
“We want Arthur and his terrible, awful . . .”
DJ shut the bedroom door on their unison voices. What would it be like after the wedding when they all lived in one house? How would she put up with them underfoot all the time?
She changed with amazing speed—her mother didn’t appreciate the rich stable smells that clung to DJ after a day at the Academy. She picked up her boot and checked the bottom. Sure enough, that’s what she’d been smelling. She should have known to leave her boots in the garage. Probably left bits of horse manure all through the house.
But nothing was said when Lindy arrived home, and they had a great time at the pizza parlor. DJ took the boys to watch the cooks make pizza, then fed quarters into the horse for them. She’d rather get them up on Bandit again so they could learn to ride a real horse. If only they could buy Bandit. She’d borrowed the Welsh pony several times for the little kids to ride when they had family gatherings. Robert had promised the boys ponies and dogs as soon as they moved into the house he was remodeling over by Gran’s. While it wouldn’t be ready before the wedding in February, it would be soon after.
“The pizza’s here.” Both boys dashed back to the table. They bowed their heads and said grace before digging in.
DJ sneaked a peak at her mother. While they’d always said grace when Gran lived with them, Lindy didn’t much care for it. She said she’d leave the praying to Gran—she had enough to worry about.
With one twin on either side of her, DJ didn’t have time to think during the meal.
“DJ, when can we ride Major?”
“When you are bigger.”
“We’s bigger now. Can we ride tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so.” She took a bite of warm pizza and caught the thread of cheese with one finger. As she wound it around and stuck it into her mouth, she glanced at her mother. And flinched. Caught in the act. How come her mother was always looking when DJ did something silly?
Bobby and Billy both stuck their fingers in the cheese and did the same.
“Hey, guys, don’t do that.”
“You did.”
DJ could feel her mother’s withering look. And it didn’t feel good.
CHAPTER • 6
“I think you should see your father,” Lindy said two evenings later.
“You gotta be crazy! Why would I do that?” DJ could feel her jaw hit her chest. “You said I wouldn’t have to.”
“I know. I’ve changed my mind.” Lindy sank back against the sofa as if she could no longer hold up her head. She rubbed her forehead, and the telltale gesture warned DJ that her mother was bordering on a migraine.
DJ watched her mother, hoping for a change of heart. “I talked with him on the phone. Wasn’t that enough?”
“For thirty seconds?” Her mother’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and she gave a minute head shake.
DJ clamped her mouth shut on all the things she wanted to say. Granted, she’d prayed for him, but only because the Bible said to. After all, she’d told Gran, wasn’t she supposed to pray for her enemies? Gran had chuckled when DJ turned that verse on her.
But was Brad Atwood an enemy?
“So, will you?”
“Will I what?” DJ brought her mind back to the present.
“Darla Jean, please pay attention. This is extremely important.”
DJ nodded.
“I am asking you to agree to see your father. He would like to come here to visit.”
“I don’t have to go to his house?”
“No, not until you want to.”
“What if I don’t ever want to?” The urge to chew her fingernails made DJ bite her bottom lip instead.
“I don’t know yet what the legal ramifications might be. The way the laws read today, Brad could force the issue.” Lindy rubbed her head again. A lock of hair swung forward on her left cheek, and she absentmindedly pushed the wayward hair back over her ear.
“Mom, he never paid any attention to us all these years. How come he can just drop in and make me see him?”
“I don’t know.” Lindy looked her daughter full in the face. “DJ, have I ever said anything to make you hate your father?”
DJ shook her head. “We never even talked about him. I guess I figured he died or something. I liked our life the way it was—Gran and you and me. I never needed a dad.”
“But didn’t you question why we never mentioned him?”
“Once or twice I wondered, but it was no big deal.” DJ sank into the soft wing chair that had always been Gran’s. “Guess I thought more about getting a horse than getting a dad.” She studied the cuticle on her right forefinger. I will not bite it off. I can do all things. “What does Robert say about all this?”
“He’s the one who suggested you see Brad.”
“Tell him thanks a big fat bunch. I thought he wanted to be my dad.”
“He did and he does. Nothing has changed there. He and the boys are coming over for dinner tomorrow as a matter of fact.” When DJ groaned, she added, “Robert’s bringing the dinner.”
“Oh, good, then. I don’t have time to cook and neither do you. And if this rain doesn’t let up, I’ll be so far behind in jumping Major, I’ll have to start all over again.”
“So you’ll see Brad?” Her mother hung on to the subject like a starving dog to a bone.
“All right!” DJ wrinkled her forehead and thumped her hands on the arms of her chair. “But I don’t have to like him.”
“But you’ll be polite.” It wasn’t a question.
DJ stuck her finger in her mouth and bit off the troublesome cuticle snag.
“DJ.”
She made a face. Now her finger stung, and she could see blood rising to the surface. She sighed. “Yes, Mother, I will be polite. When is he coming?”
“Sunday afternoon.”
“Sunday afternoon! Why didn’t you check with me first? If it’s not raining, I want that time to work Major.”
“This is slightly more important than one workout.”
“That’s what you—” DJ clamped her mouth closed.
“I’m not asking you to sell your horse, for crying out loud. As important as this is, it will only take a couple of hours to do. Gran and Joe will be here, too.”
“So Joe can beat him up?”
“Darla Jean Randall, if you would be so kind—”
“I’m leaving. I’ll be in my room studying if you decide this is all a horrible mistake.”
“Good night, DJ.”
DJ climbed the stairs, feeling like she was dragging the world behind her. She glanced out her bedroom window and grew more discouraged. Rain pocked the miniature lake in their backyard and roared in their downspouts. Was this what Noah had felt like? How’d he handle forty days and nights like this?
She thought of an idea and barreled out of her room and down the stairs. “How about if I just call and talk with him? I could do that.”
Lindy nodded. “That’s a start. Then you can
decide if you want him to come on Sunday or not.”
“No question there,” DJ muttered under her breath.
The next afternoon in English class, DJ groaned along with the rest of the kids.
“You want us to do what?” one of the boys moaned.
“You are all going to begin keeping journals. The purpose of this assignment is to write something every day to get in touch with what is going on inside of you.”
“My insides want food.”
The class snickered.
DJ felt like putting her head down on her desk and groaning, too. How was she going to write in a notebook every day? She had too much to do already. She tuned back in to what the teacher was saying.
“There are many ways of keeping journals. Famous people all through history have kept journals—it is one of the ways we know what life was like way back when. Thomas Jefferson kept a journal, as did Ben Franklin.”
“How about some women?” asked a girl.
“Many did. There are collections of journals kept by the women who traveled the Oregon Trail. Abigail Adams never failed to write in hers. However, the one I want you all to read is more current than those and was written by a young girl about your age. When you read her journal, you will get an intimate picture of a Jewish girl hiding from the Nazis during World War II. There’s a new version out now that contains entries not published in the earlier. Have any of you read The Diary of Anne Frank?
DJ raised her hand. Not too many others did.
“How many of you have seen the movie?”
DJ kept her hand up.
“Good.” Mrs. Adams turned to the board to add some more instructions. “You will need a three-ring binder or a spiral notebook. I prefer to use a binder because I can add more pages as I need them, but a spiral-bound notebook is fine. Put your name on the front of the book and date each entry. I’ll expect an entry for each day.”
“How long do they have to be?” someone asked.
“As long as you want, just so you write more than one sentence a day. It’s important that you write down how you feel about the day’s events or anything else you might be thinking about.”
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