High Hurdles Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  Something that had been bothering her hovered at the edge of her mind but refused to come forward and be recognized. “Humph.” Is it something to do with the fire? She wished she could remember.

  When she woke again, Gran sat in the chair, her Bible in her lap, her lips moving in prayer. “Hi, Gran. You and God got it all worked out?”

  “I don’t know about me, but He surely does. How’re you feelin’?”

  “Cruddy.” At least breathing didn’t hurt so bad now. If it wasn’t for the pain in her hands … When the doctors and nurses worked with them, DJ passed out screaming every time. She took in another breath. “Water, please.”

  After drinking, she looked her grandmother in the eyes. “Tell me how bad my hands are.”

  “Ah, darlin’, I’d hoped you’d wait on that, but …” She sighed. “Okay, there will be some skin grafting.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They take skin from an unburned part of your body and apply it to the burned areas.”

  “Oh. What else?”

  “There will be a lot of physical therapy to restore the strength and range of motion in your hands.”

  “How long are we talking about? Days, weeks?”

  “Months.”

  The word fell like a rock in the middle of a pond, sending waves out from around it.

  “Months?” The pain crashed in on her again, and she felt as if she were drowning.

  Later, sitting on the edge of the bed sent the world into spin formation. When DJ opened her eyes again, she smiled at the giant stuffed panda bear sitting in the corner, holding a bouquet of bobbing Mylar balloons.

  “That’s from everyone at the Academy.” Lindy sat beside her daughter on the edge of the bed.

  “Cool.” DJ let out a breath and wrinkled her forehead. What had felt like a terrible sunburn was gone. She was making some progress. “Okay, so now we walk, right?”

  “Yes, over to that chair.” The nurse motioned to a chair about three feet away.

  “That’s all?”

  “We’ll talk after you make that.”

  Even with both of them supporting her, DJ sank down on the chair with a sigh of relief. How could she ever be so weak? At least the room stayed in the correct position, no spinning. But pulling air into her injured lungs was still hard. The nose prongs for oxygen had become her good friends, not something to fight.

  Sunday afternoon after a morning of wanting to scream at the pain and the doctors and life in general, DJ woke to find Gran again in the chair.

  “So you’re back.” Gran’s smile seemed to glow in the light coming from the window.

  “Uh-huh. This morning was real bad.” DJ looked at her hands. At least the bandages were smaller. Maybe that was a step in the right direction.

  “Gran, answer me truth.”

  “If I can.” She kept her finger tucked in her Bible to keep her place.

  “Am I going to ride again?”

  “I don’t know why not.”

  DJ crumpled back against her pillows. “No one will answer me when I ask. They just say, ‘wait and see.’ I don’t think the doctors think I can. Gran, I can’t live without riding.”

  “It will take some time and a lot of work on your part.”

  “I can do that.”

  “I know.”

  DJ thought some more. “I keep seeing the fire again. But you know what? I don’t hear that kid screaming anymore.”

  “I’d say that’s part of the miracle.”

  “What miracle?”

  “Darla Jean, darlin’ girl, you got all those horses out of a burning building. There was fire there, and you went in anyway!”

  “Oh. You’re right.” DJ squinted her eyes. “I remember standing at the door. I couldn’t go in. The child was screaming. But then I heard Herndon whinny. I could hear how terrified he was. So I went in.”

  “And got him and several other horses out, plus screamed fire and sounded the alarm. I’d say God answered our prayers.”

  “You mean about the fear thing?”

  “Uh-huh.” Gran stroked down DJ’s arm with a gentle hand.

  “Couldn’t He think of an easier way?” DJ blurted out the words before thinking.

  Gran laughed her gentle, loving laugh that brought a smile to DJ’s face. “I don’t presume to know the mind of God, darlin’, but I do know that He turns evil to good for those who love Him.”

  “So you think I can quit scaring little kids at their birthday parties?”

  “I have no doubt.”

  “That would be good.” DJ sighed again.

  This time when DJ fell asleep, instead of fire, she dreamed of clearing jumps with crowds screaming to cheer her on. She and the other members of the USET stood on the podium waiting for the officials to drape the gold medal ribbons around their necks.

  No matter how long it took, she would ride again.

  To all those at Eagle One,

  may you fly high and far.

  Chapter • 1

  Will I ever ride again? Darla Jean Randall stared out her hospital window at the early September sun.

  Of course you will. Don’t be a boob. You can’t let a little fire get you down.

  But it wasn’t just a little fire. The voices argued back and forth in her head, sometimes so loudly she couldn’t feel the pain in her hands.

  “Darla Jean?” The nurse stopped at the foot of her bed.

  “My name is DJ.” She knew Gran would give her that I’m-disap-pointed-in-you look if she heard a response like that, but why couldn’t they get her name straight? She unclenched her jaw and attempted a smile. “Please call me DJ. Only my mother and grandmother call me Darla Jean.” There, that sounded a bit better.

  “Sorry. Here, let me fix that on your chart and the tag on your bed. We at least ought to be able to get your name right.” The young woman wearing kittens all over her shirt corrected the chart and tag before coming closer to stand at DJ’s side. “Okay, DJ, my name is Karen. I’ve been on vacation, but now I’ll be your regular nurse. I hear you’re our local heroine.”

  DJ shrugged. That’s what several newspapers had called her when she saved a bunch of horses from a fire at Rancho de Equus horse park almost two weeks earlier. Good thing someone found her lying on the barn floor after she’d been clunked on the head trying to get another horse out or—

  “How’s your horse doing?” Karen broke into DJ’s thoughts.

  “Okay. My father has him back at his ranch in Santa Rosa.” When DJ closed her eyes, she could still hear Herndon screaming in fear.

  “We’ll get you riding again, DJ.” Karen’s voice softened. “I can understand how much you love horses because I do, too. I never got as far as you have, though.”

  “Do you jump?”

  “Nope, dressage. But I jumped some when I was younger.” Karen finished injecting the pain medication into the IV drip.

  “You don’t anymore?”

  “No horse now. One of these days I’ll have one again.” Karen glanced at her watch. “I hate to be the one to do this, but they’re ready for you down in therapy.”

  DJ gritted her teeth and fought the tears that threatened to brim over. “Do I have to?” Every day they scrubbed the dead tissue off the burns on her hands. One time she had fainted. If only that would happen every time. Nothing in her entire life had ever hurt so much, not even the burns after the fire. But then, she’d been unconscious for several days and didn’t remember anything. They’d stapled artificial skin over the burned tissue to help new skin grow faster while she was unconscious, too.

  “Sorry. I wish there were another way, but we want to make sure your hands heal properly.” The look in Karen’s eyes said as much as the words. “You don’t have to be tough, you know. Scream all you want.”

  I hate to be a sissy. God, please help me. I can’t do this again. “Ah, is my grandmother here yet?”

  “I can check after I get you down there.”

  “Can you check no
w, please?” Having to ask for every little thing made DJ want to run screaming down the hall. Since she still got dizzy when she stood up, they wouldn’t even let her out of bed without someone standing by. Once, in the middle of the night, she nearly wet the bed when the nurse didn’t get there in time. One thing was for sure—there was no way she’d ever be a nurse or doctor or medical anything.

  She watched as the nurse left the room, the soles of her shoes squeaking on the highly polished floor. Gran, please be here. I need you to pray for me.

  “Sorry, no one in the waiting room.” Karen pushed a wheelchair next to the bed and set the brakes. “You need help getting into our speed-mobile here?”

  DJ held her bandaged hands in the air and scooted her rear over to the side of the bed, bracing herself on her elbows. She sat upright and paused to make sure her head stayed in one place before swinging her legs over the sides. Even that extra bit made her close her eyes to stop the window from tilting.

  “Easy, now.” Karen laid a restraining hand on DJ’s upper arm. “Has the room stopped spinning yet?”

  “I … I think so.” DJ opened her eyes and swallowed.

  “Okay, lean on me and we’ll keep you off the floor.” Together they got DJ situated in the wheelchair, and Karen flipped the footrests into place. “You all right?”

  “Um …” DJ propped her elbows on the arms of the chair. Her stomach tied up in knots and her hands shook, even in all the bandages. One second she felt cold, the other steaming hot. Gran, where are you?

  By the time they arrived at the treatment room, she kept swallowing to keep from throwing up. Someone in treatment screamed. DJ flinched. Oh, God, please, I can’t do this again. I can’t.

  “Darla Jean, sweetheart.” Gran’s voice drenched her in a cooling, life-giving shower.

  Karen stopped before the doors and waited as Gran hurried down the hall. “Sorry, darlin’. I got caught in traffic or I’d have been here sooner.” When she reached DJ, she wrapped her arms around her granddaughter and held her close.

  “I can’t do it, Gran. I can’t go in there.” The tears came, soaking Gran’s shirt.

  “Go ahead and cry it out.” Gran stroked DJ’s fuzz-covered head and dropped her own tears on the few remaining scabs. Though all DJ’s hair had been singed off, the burns on her scalp had only been superficial. Her hands had taken most of the punishment. “Ah, darlin’, we’ll get through this. You go on in there and I’ll wait right here, prayin’ for God’s mercy and strength. DJ, He promised He’d never give more than we can stand and that He’s always right here with us.”

  “I … I know. … B-but it hurts so terrible,” DJ sniffed between sobs. She took a shuddering breath and straightened in the chair. “Okay, Karen, let’s g-go.”

  DJ bit off a whimper as they removed the bandages and air hit the burned tissue. One time she had looked and nearly thrown up at the sight of skinless, clawlike fingers that were red and crispy after the dense black tissue was scrubbed away. Now DJ kept her eyes closed. A groan made it past her clenched teeth. Sweat rolled down her face. The pain … the smell. Someone in another cubicle screamed. Tears poured down DJ’s cheeks.

  “Let it out, DJ. Screaming makes it easier.” The therapist paused in the debridement and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, kid, scream!”

  DJ tried to bite her lip, but with the next pass of the brush she cried out. Another pass and the scream burst forth, beyond her control, from the deep place inside where she’d fought the battle. Her cries rang in her ears and ricocheted down the corridors of her mind.

  “There, now, kiddo. You did real good.” Karen held her, murmuring in her ear and wiping the sweat away with a damp cloth. The cool cloth felt like heaven on DJ’s skin.

  It was over for another day. It had been a week since DJ woke from her coma, and it seemed as if she’d been counting the days from treatment to treatment and nothing else.

  Gran met them in the hall, her own cheeks showing tear tracks and smeared mascara.

  Together she and Karen got DJ back in bed and tucked in. Gran held a glass of ice water for DJ to sip. They had to keep forcing fluids into her, even with the IV still attached to her arm.

  “You want a Popsicle or something?” Karen stroked across DJ’s forehead and down her neck. “A back rub might help loosen you up some, too. That’s an awful ordeal. I almost cried with you.”

  “Really?”

  “What do you think we nurses are, superhuman or something? Those guys down there in the therapy room, if they weren’t absolutely convinced this was the best thing they could do for their patients, they’d never be able to get out of bed in the morning, let alone come in to work.” As she talked, Karen bathed DJ’s face and shoulders, rolled her on her side to rub in lotion to loosen the knots in her shoulders and neck, then adjusted the pillows. “There, now. Is that better?”

  “Yes, thank you.” DJ felt like purring. “And a banana Popsicle would be good.”

  Gran held it for her as she nibbled the cold treat, mopping her chin when DJ dribbled.

  “I feel like a baby. I can’t even hold my own Popsicle.” DJ knew she sounded grumbly, but she also knew Gran wouldn’t mind. Trying to keep a happy face was beyond her ability at times.

  “You will be soon.” Gran dropped the sticks in the wastebasket. “Looks to me like your boxing gloves are smaller.”

  DJ held up her hands. “Maybe.” As the pain-killers kicked in, she could barely keep her eyes open. “I hate to sleep when you are here.”

  “Don’t worry. I brought a book and sketch pad.”

  “How’s GJ doing?” GJ stood for Grandpa Joe, DJ’s nickname for her second grandfather. He had been married to Gran for about a year now. DJ barely remembered her first grandfather.

  “Better. He just didn’t dare bring his cold here. They wouldn’t have let him in anyway. Got to keep you germ free.”

  “How’s Major?” DJ’s eyes drooped farther. Major was her first horse, whom she’d given to her cousin Shawna after Major was injured and could no longer jump.

  “Fine. Shawna is working with him every day.”

  “And giving him all kinds of treats, right? He’ll be spoiled to bits.”

  “She sent you a card—made it special for you.” Gran dug in the big bag that accompanied her everywhere. She withdrew a big pink envelope and slit it open with one fingernail to show DJ the cartoon horse on the front. It wore bandages on its front legs and one eye.

  DJ smiled. “She’s getting good, huh?” Blinking her eyes helped keep them open.

  Inside on the left of the card, Shawna had drawn a picture of Major with a balloon above his head that read, When ya comin home? On the right another cartoon horse said,

  Roses are red.

  Ribbons are blue.

  If you don’t hurry home,

  I’ll come get you.

  “Did you help her?” DJ tried to hide her second worst fear—that she would never draw again. How could she live without jumping or drawing? She’d helped Shawna not only with her riding, but drawing, as well. DJ and her best friend, Amy Yamamoto, had developed a greeting card line of DJ’s drawings and Amy’s photos—all horses. Sales were increasing; of their many money-earning schemes, it was the only one that really worked.

  Like her grandmother, DJ was already on her way to becoming an artist.

  “Nope. Did it all herself.” Gran held the horse drawings at arm’s length and studied them. “Does real well for a ten-year-old.” She smiled at DJ. “Not as good as you, of course, but she shows talent.”

  “Your mother has a box of cards for you at home. She’ll bring them in tomorrow if her cold gets better. Seems the bug got the whole family down. So unseasonable, too.”

  DJ heard the last of Gran’s words, but an answer refused to make it to her mouth. She woke sometime later to see Gran reading her book in the waning late-afternoon sunlight. Her sketch pad lay on the table beside her, her colored pencils back in their box. Gran had a new contract for ano
ther picture book that was still in the idea stage. As a well-known and award-winning illustrator, she always had plenty of work. DJ eyed the water glass. Her mouth felt like a herd of mustangs had galloped through it.

  She cleared her throat. Sort of.

  “Ah, you’re awake.” Gran put her things aside and crossed the room to bring DJ a drink.

  DJ sucked on the straw as if she hadn’t had a drink for a month. “Thanks. You read my mind.”

  Karen stuck her head in the doorway. “Hey, DJ, you ready for some visitors?”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not telling.” Karen gave a horror-movie laugh and left.

  DJ and Gran swapped questioning glances.

  “Do I look all right?” DJ whispered. She had yet to see a mirror.

  “Not even a zit.” Gran laid a hand on DJ’s shoulder. The sounds coming down the hall made DJ wish she could peek out the door.

  Chapter • 2

  “Is this the room of the famous DJ Randall?”

  “Duh, I don’t know, Chief. No sign on da door.”

  DJ could feel her eyebrows shoot up—if she still had eyebrows. A shiver tingled down her back. Who could it be?

  “You think we should knock first?”

  “Duh, I don’t know, Chief. How do ya knock when da door is open?”

  DJ could feel a giggle attack about to happen. She looked up to see Gran staring back at her, her eyes dancing. “What … ? Who?”

  Gran shrugged.

  “Duh, you wanna go first, Chief?”

  “Of course. That’s why they call me Chief.” A loud clunking sound ended the arrival of four firemen in full fire-fighting gear—with red sponge noses. The first one wore a big sign that read Chief. One backed through the door because of the bright red box he and another carried.

  “Duh, Chief, is dat DJ?” The one with the biggest nose leaned forward, pretending he couldn’t see well.

  “You mean that pretty lady standing by the bed or that cute chick who’s giggling too hard to say hello?” The chief waggled his eyebrows.

  DJ tried to stop laughing, but when the two men waggled their eyebrows in tandem, she lost it. Gran’s laughing didn’t help.