High Hurdles

by Lauraine Snelling

  “S-s-something isn’t a purebred Arabian filly worth who knows how much and a h-horse for competition jumping and a . . .” She stammered to a close.

  The filly stamped her foot again, dragging DJ’s attention back to the baby. What would it be like to have a horse like her for my very own? A baby to raise and train from the very beginning. A lump formed in the back of her throat and burned behind her eyes.

  “Besides, Mom would have a cow.”

  “She’d do better with a horse.” The twinkle in his eyes brought a smile to DJ’s lips. “Come on.” He threw an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go have lunch. Jackie is waiting for us, and if we don’t hurry, she’ll claim I’ve been hogging you. Let’s show her just how generous I am.”

  Cows, horses, hogs—DJ felt like a herd of each of the named animals had run right over her. She thought about the incredible Crosby saddle her father had given her for Christmas. While she’d spent time rubbing saddle soap into it, she had yet to put it on her horse. Not with the yucky weather they’d been having. That saddle she planned to save for the show-ring.

  As she and her father matched step for step out to the truck, she put the thought of horses out of her mind and enjoyed the warmth of his arm around her shoulders. If this was what having a father felt like, maybe having two of them wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  “So what do you think we should name the filly?” Brad asked as he eased the Land Rover toward the driveway up the easy rise to the house. While both house and barns were on a gentle hill, the house crowned the top. The three barns and the covered arena lay halfway down to the flat pastures that spread to the riverbank.

  “I don’t know. What are her parents’ names?”

  “Dam is Wishful, out of My Wish. Shenanigans was her sire. Stud is Matadorian. The foal has a two-year-old full brother and a yearling sister. Matadorian and Wishful have great offspring, so I went for a third. The two-year-old was a futurity winner last year, and the yearling’s competitors will have to work hard to beat her, too. I’m getting her ready for halter classes this season.”

  He parked off to the side of the huge house, built of rust and ochre slate from northern California. Camellias in every combination of pink and white bloomed along the house walls, azaleas flaming at their feet. The riot of color was brightened even more by clumps of red and white primroses. It nearly took DJ’s breath away.

  She and Gran had worked hard to create a lovely summer garden, but their roses looked pale beside this show. “Wow! How beautiful.”

  “Thanks, it is, isn’t it? Jackie loves flowers almost as much as she loves horses.” He laughed and shook his head. “Not really, but they are her second love. She takes care of most of the landscaping around here, especially since she cut back on the hours she spends at the clinic. Says she’d rather show horses now than try to straighten out kids who have been given too many things and not enough time and love from their parents.”

  He held open the heavy front door for her. “Jackie, we made it.”

  “I’m in the kitchen.” The voice floated from the back of the house, along with a tantalizing fragrance.

  “She made focaccia bread,” Brad said, sniffing, too. “All we have to do is follow our noses. We’ll leave your things here, unless you want to put them in your room first.”

  “Whatever.” DJ propped her portfolio next to the duffel bag Brad had set by the wall. “I do need to wash my hands, though.”

  “In there.” Brad pointed to the half bath off the hall to the kitchen.

  “Hi, DJ, glad you could come.” Jackie greeted her with a hug and a huge smile when DJ entered the gourmet kitchen. Brass pots hung from a rack over the center island stove, and bunches of dried herbs dangled from hooks above the butcher-block work counter beside the stove. Light oak cabinets, some with backlit stained-glass fronts, lined the walls. Beyond the small table set for three, the full wall of glass bayed out to a redwood deck that led in descending steps to a small pond. Pots of blooming pansies mixed with golden daffodils and bright primroses took the gray from the day, in spite of the rain.

  “I love this place.” DJ stood shaking her head, admiring everything around her.

  “Thanks. I hope you’re hungry.” Jackie opened the oven door and pulled out a pan of flat, herb-topped bread. “I heard you like Italian food, so I made lasagna and foccacia bread. How does that sound?”

  “Heavenly.” DJ trailed a finger over the marble countertops. “Can I help you?”

  “Sure, cut this bread into rectangles about this big”—Jackie spread her fingers about two inches by three inches—“and put some in that basket. Brad, how about pouring the ice water? You want milk, DJ?” While she talked, Jackie removed a ceramic casserole dish from a second oven, its contents topped by slightly browned cheese and meat sauce. “We’ll serve from right here,” she said, setting it on the hot pads on the table.

  “You’ve done yourself proud, lady. That smells divine.” Brad sniffed the air. “Come on, let’s eat.”

  When they were all seated, Brad reached for DJ’s and Jackie’s hands. “Let’s say grace.” He bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, thank you for this food that Jackie has so lovingly made for us. Thank you, too, for prompting me to find my daughter—and for all the blessings you give us every day. Amen.”

  DJ raised her head and took in a deep breath. She felt so welcomed and at home here in this house, with these people, it was almost scary.

  By the end of lunch, she felt like she had done almost all the talking, they had asked her so many questions, especially about the Academy. She helped Jackie load the dishwasher and then the three of them headed back to the barns.

  “If you look over your shoulder very carefully, you may catch a peek at the sun.” Brad dropped his voice to a whisper on the last word. He held a finger to his lips when DJ started to say something and pointed over her shoulder.

  “Shhh, don’t scare it away,” Jackie whispered.

  DJ tried swallowing her giggles and coughed instead.

  “You did it.” Brad shook his head. “See, you scared it. Now we’ll have forty days and nights of rain.”

  “I thought it was forty more days of winter, like with the groundhog.”

  “Same difference.” Brad winked at DJ and shrugged at his wife. “Groundhog, schmoundhog, rain, drain. All parts of winter. And here I thought we might enjoy at least a moment of sunshine.”

  “Sorry.” DJ hoped her face looked suitably apologetic. When Brad shook his head, she fought the giggles again. “You want me to do a sun dance?”

  “No thanks. Then we might not see it again for weeks. If a look or a giggle could scare it away, what would a dance do?” He parked by the barn, and they all climbed out.

  “Forgive this man I live with,” Jackie said to DJ. “Sometimes I think he is certifiably nuts.” She waited for Brad to pull open the sliding barn door. “You want to ride Lord Byron first or Herndon, the horse I used before him?”

  “We have a jumper we’d like you to try, too.” Brad caught up with them.

  He reintroduced her to all the horses in the stalls lining the long barn. “Some of the young stock is out on the pasture, since I figured they needed the exercise. While you two go play, I’ll put the rest of these guys out on the hot walker. Matadorian and I will join you in the arena later. You can take a turn on him again, too, DJ, if you like.”

  “So many to choose from, I can’t decide.” DJ stopped in the middle of the aisle. Dish-faced horses with large, dark eyes and curving ear tips watched them from every stall. Some nickered, some stamped a foot. DJ wanted to hand out carrots to each and every one. Brass nameplates on the varnished wood doors gleamed in the light from long bulbs overhead. “This looks more like a movie set than a real barn. How do you keep it so nice?”

  “Hired helpers,” Brad answered. “Most of them have worked for us for the last five years or so. Ramone is the head of the barn crew. He helps us with showing and in the breeding barn. Ramone’s been w
orking with horses since about the time I was born, so we are really fortunate to have found someone like him. He took today off, but you’ll meet him tomorrow.”

  “I do most of the breaking of the young stock,” Jackie offered. “Then Brad takes over the training. When he’s out of town, Ramone and I split the work. I spend two to three hours both training and conditioning Lord Byron most days, and my trainer comes twice a week.”

  “Wow.” DJ shook her head. “I had no idea.” She turned to Brad. “You travel a lot?”

  “Depends on the case.”

  “He has quite a reputation as a legal attorney. But he tries to schedule his work around the big shows so we can do them together.” Jackie paused while Brad walked one of the most persistent nickerers out of her stall. “See how heavy she is? Due to foal within the month. That should be a real good baby, too. By Matadorian again.”

  “You sell more fillies or colts?”

  “Depends on the year. Matadorian’s sons are doing real well in the ring, and this year, we will have the first get from Matson, the oldest. We kept him for ourselves, at least for a while.”

  “How many horses do you have?”

  “Thirty-five—no, six with the little filly you get to name.” Jackie took her arm. “Come on, let’s go saddle up. If the sun does come through, I think we’ll ride down to the river when Brad joins us.”

  If DJ thought riding Megs was a treat, Lord Byron took her breath away. Even with her limited use of aids, he responded like a dream come true. Following Jackie’s instructions, she rode the extended trot that seemed to float above the ground.

  “You ride well for someone with so little dressage training.” Jackie held the big Hanovarian while DJ dismounted. “I think you must have a good trainer.”

  “I do. Bridget rode for the French National Team a few years ago, but when she decided to live in the United States, she forfeited her place. She says she’d rather teach now, but I think something happened that she never talks about. At least not with us kids. She’s really a great teacher, though. One thing about her, you don’t ever try to make excuses or not do your best.” DJ gave a mock shudder. “I won’t ever make that mistake again.”

  “I’m glad you have someone like that. Too many people give up when the going gets tough. You have to set your goals and work toward them.” Jackie stroked the near-black gelding’s arched neck. “This boy here was one of my goals. I wanted a horse with the capacity for Grand Prix levels. He can do it, too—but I’m still learning.” She smiled. “Boy, am I learning!”

  “He’s a dream to ride, that’s for sure.” DJ adjusted the stirrups back to the shorter length. “Thanks for giving me the privilege.”

  “I’m just trying to brainwash you to switch from jumping to dressage—at least that’s what your father says. Mount up on Herndon here, and I’ll give you the lesson I promised. Then you can take him over the jumps in the middle. He loves to jump and doesn’t get the chance very often.”

  “I didn’t think you had jumps,” DJ said.

  “We do, but they were in storage since no one was using them. Brad brought them out for you.”

  As if in a dream, DJ took the reins Jackie handed her and led the dark bay gelding forward a couple of steps. She adjusted the stirrup leathers out for her longer legs, mounted, and checked to make sure they fit. Sliding her right leg back, she tightened the girth and tested again. Now comfortable with the fit, she deepened her seat in the saddle, checked all the points Bridget harped on, and signaled a walk. Herndon obeyed as if they’d been riding partners for years.

  “Have you worked on bending yet?” Jackie asked when DJ had Herndon sufficiently warmed up.

  “Some but not much.”

  “But you understand what it is?”

  DJ nodded. “Keep the horse bent around my inside leg and ask him to come down on the bit. Keeping Megs down on the bit is mostly what I’ve been working on.”

  “Good, then this is the next step. You will work a serpentine pattern down the arena, so you’ll need to bend each way as you turn. This increases the suppleness of your horse.” She positioned DJ’s left leg just behind the girth. “Now for turning left, keep this leg here, shorten your left rein, and hold your right leg behind the girth just a bit. Keep your contact with the horse snug.” She looked up. “Do you understand?”

  “Sure—until I try it.”

  Jackie smiled. “That’s the way it is, all right. Herndon knows what you want, so relax. Let him teach you.”

  DJ immediately dropped her shoulders.

  “Good girl, now go for it. And remember, sit to the trot.”

  By the third time through the serpentine, DJ was bending to the left consistently.

  “Don’t drop your inside shoulder,” Jackie called. A few more times, and the right came more easily. Back and forth, up and down the arena. She totally lost track of time, finally picking up the pace. Bending at a walk was the most difficult.

  “You did terrific work,” Jackie said when she called a halt sometime later.

  “Thanks.” DJ leaned forward and petted the gelding’s sweaty neck. “He sure is willing. How could you bear to give him up?”

  “Pure ambition.” Brad joined them on Matadorian, who snorted when brought to a standstill. “She wants a chance at the top, and poor old Herndon wasn’t good enough. Not the athlete Lord Byron is. We got him from a breeder and trainer in the Netherlands. Another year or so of experience, and Jackie and Lord Byron might make it.”

  “Might?” Jackie raised an eyebrow. “Might?”

  “Sorry. They will make it to the big time.” Brad shot his wife a teasing glance.

  “I’d say level four is pretty big time.”

  “Me too. It certainly took long enough to get there.” Jackie brushed Lord Byron’s mane to one side. “You want to jump now, or should we take advantage of the momentary sun to ride down to the fields? You can always jump later.”

  DJ looked longingly at the series of jumps set up in the middle of the ring. But riding outside drew her like a magnet, especially when the weather had given her so few opportunities lately. “Let’s go outside.”

  A mockingbird greeted them and the sun with an aria of joy. Two of the yearlings raced each other across the green pasture, tails flagging in the distinctive Arab way. Brad leaned forward and swung open the gate, Matadorian responding like a well-trained trail-riding horse. He backed on command and, once through, sidestepped so Brad could latch the gate again.

  DJ watched appreciatively. While Major allowed her to do the same, Patches absolutely refused to cooperate yet. “Is there a trick to getting a horse to work with a gate like that? The gelding I’m training for the Johnsons would sooner jump the gate than let me open it.”

  All the way along the field, they discussed horse training and tricks they had learned to get a spirited horse to obey.

  “Calling that clown Patches spirited is like saying a lion is a house cat. I think he’s pure ornery and out to prove it to anyone who gives him the tiniest chance. You’ve got to watch him every minute—he gets bored easily.”

  California oak trees with naked branches lined the river, giving promise of cooling shade in the summer. Every once in a while, a eucalyptus raised gray-leafed branches, its trunk littering the ground with shredded bark. Broken branches scattered about gave mute testimony to the latest windstorm. Just beyond the trees, the Petaluma river flowed high up the diked banks, brown with runoff soil.

  The trunk of a willow tree floated downstream, its roots waving sadly to the sky. It caught on a fallen tree from the opposite side of the river and hung there before swirling on down toward the Bay.

  “At least the river is falling today. That’s good.” Brad reined his mount to a stop. “If the storms let up, we’ll be okay. The Petaluma doesn’t usually get it as bad as the Russian River north of here.”

  DJ watched the willow tree float away. It was moving pretty fast. A cloud covered the sun, sending shivers up her back. The river loo
ked like a swollen brown snake between the banks of green. She never had liked snakes much.

  “You want to jump now?” Jackie asked when Brad rode on ahead. “He’d rather patrol the perimeters of his camp, like a good commander. We’ll ride back here again during the summer when we can walk the horses right into the river, just around that bend.”

  Within minutes, Jackie had the jumps adjusted for DJ’s training level. She moved off to watch, Lord Byron’s reins looped over her arm.

  DJ felt a thrill shoot through her. Jumping again! It felt like she hadn’t jumped in months, maybe even years. She set Herndon into a canter and toward the first jump. He lifted off at just the right moment and landed so lightly, she felt like she was still flying. She could hear Jackie’s applause and Brad cheering her on as he rejoined them. The second jump, the third, and the fourth—each one renewed the thrill. This was what she lived for, those brief moments when she was airborne. There was no feeling like it anywhere else on earth. At least nothing she had ever felt.

  DJ finished the sixth and continued the canter to where Brad and Jackie sat on their horses.

  “That was great!” Brad’s face shone with his excitement.

  Jackie nodded. “You did well. Shall I raise them?”

  “Okay, but not much. Bridget says to keep the jumps low enough for a good workout, yet high enough to learn something. What I learned this time is that Herndon loves to jump. You see his ears? Forward the whole time.” She patted the horse’s neck. “Herndon, old boy, you’ve got a permanent friend in me.”

  This round, they ticked on the fifth jump, and the pole came tumbling down. “Rushed that one, fella, and I got left behind. Sorry. Let’s go again.” She cantered back around to jump one and began the circuit again, this time concentrating on her timing. Bridget always said to count the beats between jumps, and DJ had skipped doing that on the tick round. When DJ finished with a clean slate this time through, Jackie asked if she should raise the poles again.

  DJ hesitated. If this were a jump-off like those Hilary had to ride in almost every show, the poles would go higher. Should she do it?