Lindy laid a comforting hand on DJ’s shoulder, sending shock waves through her. “I can see why this would be a problem for you.” More shock waves. Is this my mother?
“I guess if it were me, I’d be pretty mad at him sometimes, even might think I hate him.” Lindy’s voice had that gentle quality DJ used with Andrew when she was trying to get him over being afraid of Bandit. “You been thinking that?”
The question caught DJ by surprise. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Gran thought you might, but you haven’t really said much.” Lindy’s hand continued to stroke DJ’s shoulder. “Robert and I talked about it, you know. He wondered what you were thinking and feeling.” Silence. “You care to talk about it?”
The words came in a whisper. “I’m so scared, Mom . . . so scared.”
“Makes sense. Me too.”
DJ stopped in midthought. “Why are you scared?”
“You first.”
“Well, I . . . I don’t know. It’s just all so sudden. I mean, we were fine without him, and now all of a sudden he’s there and wants to be a part of my life—at least I think so. Sometimes I get so mad at him.” DJ flipped back over on her stomach. “Why can’t things stay the way they’ve always been?”
“That’s life, honey—change and more change. Lately more than ever—and mostly because I met this neat man I thought my mother would enjoy being with.” Lindy clasped her hands around a knee. “Shoulda just kept my mouth shut.”
“Gran’s really happy being married to Joe.” DJ toyed with her pencil. “I wouldn’t want to change that.”
“Even though you miss her?”
“Yep. I get along okay.” DJ drew circles on the comforter with her finger. “And I really like Joe, you know that.”
“So change isn’t always so bad?”
DJ let the question sink in. Growing up was change. She’d always wanted to ride and draw better—that was change, too. And Robert and her mother getting married, now that would be the biggest change of all. With the Double Bs around, nothing would ever be the same again. Did she not want that to happen?
She curled onto her side so she could see her mother. Her mother had sure been different lately—softer, more smiling, and even open to talking with her once in a while. Would she want that to go back to the old way? “Guess not, at least not all the time.” DJ thought a minute. “Do you want to see him again?”
“Who, Brad?”
DJ nodded.
“Not particularly. That part of my life is like a book I closed a long time ago. I like looking ahead.” Lindy rumpled DJ’s hair. “We’ll get through this, and Christmas isn’t far away. How you coming with your presents?”
DJ was glad for the new topic. “I’m stuck. We have so much more family now.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” She leaned forward and picked up DJ’s drawing pad. “You mind?”
DJ shook her head. She watched her mother’s face as she flipped through the sheets. Lindy smiled, chuckled at the colt illustrations, and nodded once or twice.
“DJ, you sure inherited your grandmother’s talent. Some of these are really good. You ever thought about choosing one or two and reducing them down to card size? These would make neat note cards.”
“I could make up a package of six or eight.” DJ felt her brain spring to attention and start working. “They wouldn’t have to all be different.” DJ took back her drawing pad and started flipping through. “This one, I think.” She pointed at the side view of a foal. “And this one.” A cameo of Major, ears pricked, made her grin.
“You have plenty to choose from.” Lindy leaned forward. “Good night, DJ. Time to hit the sack.” She dropped a kiss on her daughter’s head and stood to leave. “Don’t worry about meeting your biological father. Things are always worse when you are anticipating them.”
DJ nodded. “Sure, Mom.”
The next morning when she told Amy about the cards, Amy lit up like a neon sign. “I could do the same with some of my photos. Shame it’s too late, we might have been able to sell some of these.”
“You’re right.” The wheels began to turn. “We could buy the envelopes and—”
“You two going to make another business flier?” Mr. Yamamoto asked as he braked for a stoplight.
“Flier?” DJ looked at Amy. “We don’t need more fliers—we did that last summer.”
“No, I mean a new venture. You’ve had some good ideas in the past, they just—”
“D-a-d,” Amy moaned. “You don’t have to remind us.”
“Good thing those hamsters didn’t get loose at our house is all I’ve got to say.” John sank down in the seat. “Mom would’ve gone ballistic.”
“My mom about did.” DJ grinned at Amy. “At least with cards, they can’t escape or track horse manure on someone’s brand-new white carpet.” That had happened during the Pony Parties venture, when DJ and Amy had used Bandit to give kids rides at parties. “Gotta admit, though, those Pony Parties were our best idea of all. Ames, we should do that again.”
“Count me out.” John gathered his gear. “I’m not helping with something like that ever again.”
DJ and Amy exchanged grins. “Thanks for the ride, Dad,” DJ sang out as they exited the car. John disappeared into the throng of teenagers. “So, Ames, when you want to go to the Copy Shop?”
Sunday afternoon arrived faster than anyone was ready for.
“I can’t stand it—I think I’m going to be sick.” DJ made a puking motion toward the sink.
“Darla Jean Randall, act your age.”
“Now, dear, you know she’s only teasing.” This was already the third time Gran had acted as peacemaker.
“No, I’m not teasing. I’ve got butterflies on my butterflies. This is worse than a competition any day.” DJ opened the refrigerator door and studied the contents. Nothing looked appetizing, and Gran had already smacked her hands away from the cookie platter with a stern warning.
“Close the door, you’ll cool the entire house.” Lindy’s voice said more than her words. It said, Knock it off, DJ, I’m losing my patience. But then, Lindy hadn’t had much patience for the last two days.
DJ felt as if she were dancing on the end of a low-voltage wire. Even Gran couldn’t calm her down.
Maybe the Atwoods won’t come. Maybe they won’t find our place after all. And maybe DJ ought to go for a forty-mile run. She opened the fridge again and this time retrieved a can of soda.
“DJ, I said to stay out of there.” Lindy whirled from where she was starting the coffee maker. The kerthwunk of an open coffee can hitting the floor caught everyone’s attention.
“Lindy Lou Randall!” Gran only used that tone when her daughter resorted to the kind of language that had just turned the air blue. “Get a hold of yourself.”
“Look, you three women go about your business, and I’ll clean up the coffee.” Joe gently laid a hand on Melanie’s shoulder.
“Thank you, darlin’.” Gran placed her hand over his. “I’ll go check the table.” She glared at her daughter, shot her granddaughter a lesser glare, and headed for the dining room.
“Lindy, come here a minute, please,” Robert called from the family room.
DJ watched her mother fix a smile on her face and, after one last laser look leveled at her daughter, leave the room.
“Where’s the broom?” Joe asked, picking up the now half-empty coffee can. Dark brown ground coffee covered a sizable portion of the kitchen floor.
“I’ll get it.” DJ opened the door to the garage and snagged the broom off its hook. All this because she’d gotten a soda? Gran never got mad, or rarely, anyway. But she’d definitely been mad a couple of minutes ago. DJ handed the broom to Joe and went back for the dustpan.
After they’d cleaned up the mess, he winked at her. “Don’t take it too hard. Everyone’s under pressure here.”
“Why are they so worried? It’s me who has to meet him. At least they know the guy,” DJ whispered back.
“There’s a lot at stake here, that’s why.” Joe leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Yeah, well, I’d rather be at the barn. What a waste of good riding time.”
“It’ll be dark soon.”
“There are lights in the arena.”
“But you never ride after dark.”
“Not in the winter, but I would if I could.” DJ copied his pose.
“It’s pouring again.”
“So what’s new? Maybe God’s trying to wash California off the map.”
The doorbell rang.
DJ could feel her heart pounding somewhere down near her knees.
“This is it, darlin’,” Joe whispered with a light brush of his knuckles across her cheek. “Knock ’em dead.”
DJ listened to her mother cross the room, her heels clicking on the entry tile. The door squeaked when she opened it. Lindy’s voice sounded as if she’d just put on her best company manners for someone she didn’t like at all.
“Hello, Brad, won’t you come in?”
DJ shot a pleading look at her grandfather, who gave her a gentle push forward.
The voices continued. A man’s voice, deep and smooth. Would Brad be as nice as his voice? He introduced his wife, Jacquelyn, and Lindy introduced Robert as her fiancé. Gran returned to the kitchen and, wrapping a comforting arm around DJ’s waist, began walking her toward the group in the entry.
“Hello, Bradley, so good to see you again.” Gran kept her one arm around DJ while she extended her other hand.
“Mrs. Randall, you haven’t changed a bit.” Bradley Atwood took her hand in both of his.
DJ sucked in her breath. Her father looked like a movie star. Hair a bit darker than hers, waved back off a broad forehead, and a male version of the determined jaw she saw in the mirror every morning. On him it looked good. His smile reached his eyes, the kind of smile you couldn’t help but return. While he wasn’t as tall as Joe, DJ had to tip her head back to look up at him.
“And this is Darla Jean, but if you want her to like you, call her DJ.” Gran’s soft voice interrupted DJ’s study.
“Hi, DJ, I’m right glad to meet you.” His voice cracked, then smoothed out. Light from the fixture above made his eyes sparkle—or was it tears that threatened to choke both his throat and his eyes?
She couldn’t have answered if her life depended upon it.
He dropped his gaze and, turning slightly, said, “I’d like you to meet my wife, Jacquelyn.”
Come on, yo-yo brain, say something. DJ could still feel Gran’s arm around her waist, strong and comforting.
“H-hi, I’m pleased to meet you.” Her voice came breathy, as though she’d been running. She hoped the smile she’d ordered had arrived. She wanted to run, to jump, to yell. She wanted to go hide in her closet and not come out till they left.
“Come, we don’t need to stand here. The coffee’s ready, and we can visit much more easily around the dining room table.” Gran motioned everyone toward the dining room and hung back for Lindy to lead the way.
Later, when DJ had played the scene over for the umpteenth time, she could see the look in her mother’s eyes. It hadn’t been very friendly. And Joe hadn’t been his usual self, either. In fact, without Gran, everyone would have been terribly uncomfortable—DJ especially. But Gran had been Gran, asking questions, telling stories of earlier years, passing around the chocolate chip peanut butter cookies that Brad praised to the skies.
As her mother had said, “I guess it went okay.”
As far as DJ was concerned, the best part was talking about horses. Brad had asked about Major and what she did at the Academy, then told her about their Arabians and some of the places they’d showed.
Man, oh man, did she have a lot to tell Amy in the morning! DJ dug out her journal and began writing. She wanted to be sure to remember every little detail. At least Bradley Atwood and I have plenty to talk about, she finished writing. That’s for sure.
She was just dropping off to sleep when she remembered something she’d overheard her mother saying to Gran. What was it again? Something about silver-tongued lawyers always getting their way. What was that supposed to mean? All he’d said was that he’d call her. What on earth was bugging her mother now?
CHAPTER • 10
“If you had Tony Andrada to buy for, what would you buy?”
“I wouldn’t have Tony Andrada for all the money in the world.” Amy licked chocolate pudding from the back of her spoon as a crumpled milk carton whizzed by her left ear. She turned and glared over her shoulder at the guys at the table behind them. “You’d think the teachers could keep better control in the lunchroom.”
“Ames, you’re not helping.”
“Give him a packet of your note cards.”
“Oh, sure. The Neanderthal probably can’t even write.” DJ dug the last chip out of the sack. “I hate buying presents when I don’t really know the person.”
“You hate to buy anything. You put every dime in your saddle fund.”
“I wish. My fund just gets flatter.”
“Be glad you’re buying a flat saddle then.”
DJ groaned. “Now that’s a real knee slapper.” She smashed her lunch refuse together. “Just for that, you have to go shopping with me.”
“If he was a little kid, you could give him a box of Lifesavers or something. That’s what I gave Sue.”
“I suppose you have all your Christmas shopping done, too.”
“Of course.” They dumped their trash into the container and headed for their lockers.
“Sometimes you make me sick.” DJ pointed at her open mouth and made a gagging motion.
“I don’t like leaving things to the last minute, not like some people I know.”
“How far are you on your term paper?”
“Set to rewrite.”
DJ groaned. “I just started writing. The research took up till now.” DJ leaned her forehead against the tan metal locker. “Sometimes I hate school—it just takes away from the time I could be riding or drawing. And now I gotta go shopping, too.”
“You better get on it because the party is Saturday night.”
The bell rang. “Don’t remind me,” DJ muttered.
When Mrs. Adams returned DJ’s journal that afternoon, she had written, Glad to see you are racking up the pages. It shows this is helpful for you. Keep going. DJ looked up to catch Mrs. Adams’s eye and shared a smile with her. Now, if she could only get her term paper done on time.
That afternoon at the Academy, Andrew made it for his lesson. They had Bandit all groomed, and DJ was mentally preparing herself for the challenge of actually getting the ten-year-old on the pony.
“Okay, Andrew, this is the big day.” DJ turned to the boy she’d been working with for the last few months. His mother, Mrs. Johnson, owned Patches, and she wanted Andrew to get over his fear of horses so the family could ride together.
“I guess.” He sighed and brushed a lock of straight brown hair back from his eyes.
“Did you bring a helmet?”
“Uh-huh.” Andrew stopped brushing Bandit and looked up at DJ. “Do I have to?”
“Yup. This is the day. We’ve put it off long enough, and I think you’re ready. Everything should go great. Remember how well it went when you sat on him?”
“I guess.”
DJ forced herself to keep a smile on her face and make the boy do what he’d agreed to. “Okay then, let me see you tack him up.” She stroked the pony’s nose to keep him calm. If Bandit so much as twitched right now, Andrew might head for the hills of Briones.
Andrew set the pad in place and looked up to see DJ’s nod. He turned to take the saddle down—and stopped, taking in a deep breath and letting out a sigh that tugged at her heart. While DJ couldn’t understand how a kid could be afraid of a horse, she also couldn’t understand a mother forcing her child to do something he so obviously disliked. What if her own mother had made her take dance lessons, in a tutu no l
ess?
“You’re doing great.”
Andrew nodded and set the saddle in place. Keeping a wary eye on Bandit’s back feet, he reached under the pony’s belly for the girth and buckled it.
“Okay, now check to make sure it’s tight enough.” DJ waited for Andrew to slide his fingers behind the webbing before doing the same. “Never hurts to double-check.”
Andrew unlatched the halter and slid it off Bandit’s nose, then reattached it around the pony’s neck. All the time he slipped the bit into place and the headstall over the ears, he looked strung as tightly as a new wire fence. When he was finished, he turned to DJ.
“Okay, get your helmet.” DJ nodded to the brand-new helmet lying in the corner. Andrew put it on and buckled it in place. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes accused her of child abuse.
“Very good. Now, let’s lead Bandit out to the arena, just like you did before.” DJ snagged a lead shank off the wall when they passed the tack room. She looked around, hoping against hope that Andrew’s mother hadn’t stayed to watch. Bridget had counseled against it, but the unease persisted. Mrs. Johnson so wanted to see her son riding.
They led Bandit around the arena once, then stopped by the fence, keeping a careful distance from the other riders.
Andrew’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and he chewed his bottom lip.
“We’ve gone through these motions before, but this time you will swing your leg over the saddle and sit down. Ready?”
He nodded.
“Okay, facing Bandit, put your left foot into the stirrup iron.” She kept the lead shank steady and used her other hand to assist her student. “Now, grip the pommel with your left hand and the cantle with your right, and pull yourself up. Use your leg muscles.”
Andrew did as she said and, with her assistance at the last moment, swung his right leg over the saddle and sat down. The look he gave her tightened her throat. A grin tickled the corner of his mouth, and his eyes brightened.
“I did it.”
“You sure did.” She patted his knee. It was only with superwoman strength that she kept herself from hugging him.
High Hurdles Page 43