High Hurdles

by Lauraine Snelling

“Yeah, and she may not know it now, but it will haunt her for the rest of her life.” Lindy turned so she could look directly at DJ. “I know I made mistakes, but keeping you was never one of them. I’m sorry Brad missed out on your growing-up years, but that was his choice. He just faded out of the picture.”

  “And now he wants to come back in.”

  “I know.”

  It was DJ’s turn to lean forward. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Did you ever wish I wasn’t here? Did you hate Brad? Do you hate him now? “You weren’t much older than me.” The stunning thought swung her around.

  “I know. And I hope you never get boy crazy like I did. Poor Gran, it about drove her nuts. Looking back, all I could think about, talk about, and dream about was Brad Atwood.”

  He could have come to see me—at least once. It wasn’t as if we’d moved to New York or something. We still live in the same house my mother grew up in. He even remembers where it is.

  “Do you have any pictures of him?”

  Lindy shook her head. “I burned them all one night when I heard he took some other girl to the prom.”

  Silence fell again, this time more like a warm blanket. Lindy gathered up the napkins and closed the pizza box on the remaining piece. “You want this?”

  “For breakfast.” DJ slumped against the sofa back. “You know what bugs me the most?”

  Lindy shook her head.

  “Why now?”

  “Guess you’ll have to ask him that.”

  “Are you still mad at him?”

  “I wasn’t until he crashed back into our lives. Now I’m angry with him at times—more times than I want to admit.”

  “Me too.” DJ rubbed the scar in the palm of her hand and sighed. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You’re welcome, DJ. Sweet dreams,” Lindy said as they climbed the stairs to their bedrooms.

  “You too.” DJ stepped into her mother’s embrace just like they’d been hugging all her life. “Night.”

  But for the second night since DJ had learned of Brad Atwood, she awoke in the dark of the night, panting hard—running from a faceless man.

  CHAPTER • 8

  Seven days till D-day, but who’s counting? DJ stared at the words she’d written in her journal and chewed on the eraser of her pencil before writing some more. Sometimes I think I hate him and hope he doesn’t show up. Then I’m scared he won’t come. What if I don’t like him, or he doesn’t like me? Then what?

  Her fingers itched to draw instead of write, but she forced herself to keep at it. She flipped back a couple of pages. She’d written all she could remember her mother saying about her early life. One section in particular caught her attention. “My own dad thought I should give the baby up for adoption so I could get on with my life, but when I held you in my arms and you looked up at me, that was it. I’d been talking to you for weeks, and suddenly you were real and I couldn’t let you go.”

  DJ felt a shiver ripple up her back. What if she’d been given away?

  She forced her attention back to the current entry. I wonder what he looks like one minute, then the next, I’m so scared. Scared one minute and mad the next. I think I’m having a nervous breakdown. Do crazy people think like this? Gran says to pray about it like she is, but it’s so hard. And what about his wife? What if she doesn’t like me? Fourth-level dressage—major wow. And if they are horse people, how can I not like them? Dear God, please help me.

  Oh, and please make Bridget change her mind. Today she said I should take two dressage lessons a week and no jumping lessons for a couple of months. I mean, jumping is what I want to do. I understand learning dressage can make me a better rider, but can’t I jump, too? It’s not like I plan to show dressage or anything. Please, God, you know Bridget—only you can change her mind.

  DJ finally put away her journal pages and took out her drawing pad. After sharpening her pencils, her fingers seemed to take on a life of their own as they shaped a horse on the paper. She held the sketch of the jumping horse up to the light when she finished. Definitely Major. She’d gotten his head just right, but his rear legs were slightly off. When would she draw him right?

  She rubbed a hand across her forehead. Mom was out with Robert. They’d gone over to look at the new house and see how the remodeling was coming. It was too late to call Amy, and Gran and Joe were at a meeting. She picked up her journal again.

  THIS JUST ISN’T FAIR!!! DJ underlined the capitalized words three times, pushing so hard the lead on her pencil broke. She stuffed the pages in her folder and slipped the folder into her backpack. Dumping the thing on the floor, she reached to turn out the light. But when sleep came, the faceless man came with it.

  They finally had sunshine the next afternoon. DJ checked the jumping ring. Still wet but not sloppy. She ached to jump a round—or ten.

  “I know, ma petite, but your time in the ring is so short now that winter is here that I believe dressage is best.”

  “Whoa, you scared me.” DJ turned to find Bridget Sommersby at her shoulder. “How’d you know I’d be out here?” Even scarier, how did Bridget know what she was thinking?

  Bridget just smiled. With her ash blond hair in a neat bun at her neck and her glasses resting a bit above her hairline, she looked the picture of the neat horsewoman. Blue eyes, crinkles at their outer edges, smiled along with the instructor’s lips. “You will like dressage eventually, and even if you do not, you are enough of a horsewoman to see the value in it. Go ahead and finish your work. I will join you and Major in the arena.”

  DJ nodded. So much for God answering that particular prayer with a yes.

  By the time she’d groomed and worked Patches, given her student Andrew his lesson, and saddled Major, she still hadn’t mustered any more enthusiasm for her dressage lesson—especially after seeing Tony Andrada taking the jumps. I should be out there.

  “Come on, Major, let’s get warmed up. I don’t think you are going to like this any more than I am.” The bay snorted and tossed his head, jigged to the side, and struck out with one front foot. “You like the sun, too, don’t you? We could have gone up into the hills today. Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” DJ stroked his neck and leaned over to open the gate. “Maybe it’ll be nice Saturday so we can go.”

  “Go where?” Amy jogged by on Josh.

  “Up in Briones.”

  “I’m ready.” She stopped her mount so DJ could close the gate. “You ready for your lesson?”

  “Don’t remind me. I could be out jumping—it’s the first time in weeks the ring is dry enough.”

  “Bridget knows best.”

  “Thanks for taking her side.” By the time DJ had circled the arena three times, Bridget had opened the gate and walked to one end. DJ nudged Major into a trot and, following Bridget’s beckoning hand, stopped in front of her.

  “All right, DJ, we will begin. First, I want to remind you that our goal is to make you a better rider and Major a more athletic horse. I can promise you will become a better jumper because you are willing to work with dressage. Understand?”

  DJ nodded.

  “Good. Then let us start with the basics. First, you must learn to sit straight. You are used to leaning forward, which is right for Hunter/Jumper. But you will sit straight for dressage.” She looked up at DJ.

  DJ straightened her shoulders and tried to visualize a straight line from her ear to her heel.

  Bridget reached up and pushed her upper body back even more. “I said straight.”

  “I was.”

  “Non.” Bridget shook her head. “Straight till you feel you are leaning backward. Now, do not let your leg swing forward.”

  DJ bit back the I am straight and tried to sit even straighter. She felt like she was leaning so far back her head rested on Major’s rump.

  “That is better. Now, signal Major to walk and hold your position.”

  DJ obeyed, stiff as a board and off balance.

  “Now, relax.”

  Oh, sure, relax. Easy t
o say, impossible to do. DJ gritted her teeth. How was she supposed to watch where she was going when she couldn’t even turn her head?

  “Now then.” Bridget beckoned DJ back to halt in front of her. “Take your feet out of the stirrups.” DJ did as told. With swift motions, Bridget pulled the leather buckles of the stirrups’ down straps and laid the irons over the front of the saddle, right first, then left.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You have to learn to feel your horse in three places, your two seat bones and in front in the crotch. When you are sitting so straight and deep that you can feel your mount move beneath you, you will come along quickly.” Bridget smiled up at DJ. “Feeling comfortable yet?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Walk, please.”

  Yeah, sure—walk. This feels totally weird. Major twitched his ears. “Sorry, fella.”

  “And trot sitting.”

  If this was what a sack of grain felt like, DJ figured they could call her “oats” for short. What had happened to her balance? She felt herself slip from side to side. She was riding more clumsily than the first time she had gotten on a horse.

  Major swished his tail and stopped. A dead stop. The only problem was DJ didn’t. Until she hit the dirt, that is.

  At least she had the presence of mind to release the reins so she didn’t jerk Major’s mouth. He looked down at her, then nuzzled her shoulder as if to apologize.

  “Of all the stupid—”

  “It is all right. You are learning.” Bridget came over and gave DJ a hand to pull her to her feet.

  “I fell off—just like some little kid. He didn’t dump me.” Major nuzzled her again. “Sorry, guy, it wasn’t your fault.” She rubbed his ears and smoothed his forelock, then turned to Bridget. “Okay, so what did I do wrong?”

  “Nothing. Major stopped because you were doing what I told you to do. Without even knowing, you were sitting deeper. Now, if you would have used your legs to drive the horse forward, you would still be on him.”

  DJ grumbled to herself as she pulled her left stirrup down so she could mount. Once aboard, she flipped the stirrup back in front of her. I will do this!

  “Let us keep to the walk.”

  By the end of the lesson, DJ ached in places she’d forgotten she had. Besides being dumped on her rear, her seat hurt from the constant contact with the saddle. Her inner thighs hurt from trying to keep them flat against the saddle skirt. And her pride hurt from jouncing around like a bag of horse feed.

  “You did well.” Bridget patted DJ’s knee.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “And you will practice?”

  “Of course.” DJ gave her a who-you-kidding look.

  “Good. You might try a hot bath when you get home. Helps the sore places.” Bridget opened the gate and waved her through.

  “You okay, kid?” Joe asked when she and Major arrived back at the stall.

  “You saw?”

  Joe nodded. “Looked to me like she was trying to torture you.”

  “That about fits it. Think I’ll change to Western.” DJ slid to the ground and leaned against her horse. Major turned so he could rub his head against her shoulder. “Easy, fella, you’ll knock me over.”

  She stripped off the saddle and pad and hung them on the top edge of the lower stall door. Then, after hooking the halter around Major’s neck, she removed the bridle and laid it over the saddle. How come even her arms ached?

  “Here, let me help.” Joe unhooked the web gate, picked the brushes out of the bucket, and began a two-handed grooming job that would leave Major shining in no time.

  “But, GJ, you already cleaned the stall and put out the feed,” DJ tried to protest. She was glad for the help. How come she could jump or even do flat work for hours and not feel drained like this? What was she going to say when her father’s wife, whatever her name was again, asked about the dressage lessons? Just great. I only fell off once.

  “DJ, don’t take it so hard. You know that riders fall off plenty of times. It’s all part of the sport.” Joe grinned at her. “Or at least that’s what I heard you telling your students.”

  “I know. It’s just so embarrassing. I wasn’t even galloping or jumping or anything—just trotting. The kids I’m teaching stay on better than I did.” DJ finished buckling Major’s halter after giving him the last chunk of carrot.

  “It’ll get better.” Joe dropped the brushes in the bucket and took her arm. “Come on, I know Melanie was baking cookies when I left. I think you could use a good dose of cookies and Gran.”

  By the time DJ wrote about the disastrous lesson in her journal, she was able to laugh, although barely. She probably had looked pretty silly, grabbing for the air and collapsing like a rag doll. Even Major had looked at her as though he wondered what he’d done wrong. As Gran had said, “Someday you’ll laugh when you tell your children about this first dressage lesson.”

  But would she ever be able to laugh about the day she met her father?

  Meeting him is always in the back of my mind now, she wrote. I can’t wait until that day is over. I know Mom is pretty uptight about it, too. I heard her talking to Robert, and she was crying. I don’t know why she’s so worried. This won’t change her life much, just mine. But then again, maybe we’ll meet and he’ll go his way and I’ll go mine.

  But is that what I really want? She tapped the eraser of her pencil against her chin. Always more questions.

  “So what are you doing about Christmas presents this year?” Amy asked one afternoon. They were riding their bikes to the Academy for a change since it wasn’t raining. In fact, it hadn’t rained for a couple of days.

  “I don’t know. My saddle fund keeps shrinking—at this rate I’ll be fifty before I can afford a decent, all-purpose saddle, let alone a good jumping saddle. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m thinking of enlarging some of my photos and framing them. John said he’d help me make frames in wood shop.”

  “Must be nice sometimes to have an older brother.”

  “Yeah, sometimes. Other times I’d give him away in a heartbeat.”

  “I already gave Gran and Joe one of my drawings for the wedding, so I can’t do that again.” They stopped at the top of the hill and waited for several cars to go by.

  “You could for some of the others.”

  “I guess, but frames cost a bundle, and I don’t have John to help me out. One thing about having more family now, I’ve got more presents to buy.”

  “I still think you ought to be able to do something with your drawings.”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know. Ask Gran.”

  “Oh, sure, ‘Hey, Gran, what do you want me to make you for Christmas?’ ” They propped their bikes against the barn wall and headed over to the office to check the duties board. Since neither of their names were down for cleaning stalls, they heaved a collective sigh of relief.

  “Have you two drawn names out of the bowl for the Christmas party?” Bridget called from her office.

  DJ groaned. “Another present. I think I’m going to get a job at the Burger House.”

  “Yeah, in your spare time.” Amy put her hand in the glass fish bowl and drew out a slip of white paper.

  DJ did the same and groaned again.

  “Now what?”

  DJ held out the narrow strip for inspection. “Tony Andrada. Fiddle and double fiddle. Who’d you get?”

  “Sue Benson. No problema.”

  “Bridget, can I trade this name for another?” DJ put on her most imploring look. “Please.”

  With a slight smile, the academy owner shook her head. “You know the rules. Oh, and, DJ, Andrew will not be in for his lesson today. He has a bad cold.”

  “Probably got it so he wouldn’t have to groom Bandit. I’d hoped to get him mounted today.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “You kidding? But he’s no dummy. He’s learned to tack the pony up and lead him around. He might be
driving a car before I get him on that horse.”

  “I know you work hard with him, and his mother appreciates the care you have shown. Shame he is so frightened.”

  “Shame they don’t let him play soccer or something instead.”

  “Facing your fears is very important and part of growing up.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m afraid I won’t have presents for Christmas.” DJ stuck her hands in her Windbreaker pockets. “See ya later.” She turned and headed out the door, knowing full well that she hadn’t mentioned what she was really afraid of—meeting her father.

  That night, she took out her portfolio of her best pencil and charcoal drawings and studied each one. While many of them were of Major, she had foals, yearlings, and horses jumping, walking, grazing, and lying down. The one of a horse rearing wasn’t quite right, and she flipped past it quickly. She also flipped past the drawings she’d added riders to—she was better with horses than people. While she’d been tempted to throw out the sketches from her early years, Gran had told her to keep them so she could see how she’d grown. Her growth as an artist was obvious, even though the subject matter was limited to horses.

  DJ turned out the light. Only three days until D-day. And only fourteen more days to figure out Christmas presents.

  CHAPTER • 9

  “Are you okay?”

  DJ looked up at her mother waiting in the doorway. “Yeah, why?”

  “You’ve been so quiet lately.” Lindy motioned to ask if she could come in, and DJ patted the edge of her bed. “Is it about your dad?”

  “Sorta.” DJ pushed away her art pad, flipped over on her back, and studied her mother. As always, Lindy looked like she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Her emerald green silk lounging outfit whispered secrets as she sat down and turned to rest one knee on the comforter.

  “What do you mean by ‘sorta’?”

  DJ sighed. “For starters, what do I call him?” She crossed one ankle over her other knee.

  “Mr. Atwood seems kind of weird, doesn’t it?” Lindy said, nodding. “And you can’t call him Brad because Gran and I would have a fit.”