High Hurdles Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  They made it just as the woman was closing the door, but she was nice enough to let them in.

  “Sorry we’re so late.” Lindy put her boxes on the counter. “Oh, we forgot your checkbook.”

  “No, I brought it.” DJ pulled it from her pocket and held it up. The woman behind the counter had no idea what a feat that was, but Lindy patted her daughter’s cheek.

  “Good girl. That deserves a celebration milk shake on the way home.”

  The jamoca almond fudge malt tasted mighty good.

  DJ rode Major again Tuesday morning after mucking out his stall. Holding the grooming brushes was easier than she thought it would be, and the sheer pleasure of brushing a horse again made her whistle a tune. She’d even gotten an hour in on her homework before the tutor arrived.

  Being able to take oral tests instead of written made her day even sunnier.

  “Good job,” Debra said. “We’ll plan on midterms next Wednesday. How’s that?”

  “Do we have to?” DJ groaned. Tests to study for already?

  “We can wait a week if we have to, but let’s get them done before we should be doing quarter finals. I’m hoping you’ll be able to go back to school in the next few weeks, at least part time.”

  Just because she’d been up early the last couple of days to take care of Major didn’t mean she wanted to go back to school. Holding a grooming brush was a hundred times easier than a pen or pencil.

  That afternoon DJ and Gran got caught in a traffic jam on their way back from therapy. While DJ called Bridget on the cell phone to say she might not make it, she had a hard time throwing off the grumps. Gran patted her knee. “Sorry, but these things happen.”

  “I know.” But why me?

  On Thursday DJ cantered Major around the pasture. While her mother had to hook and unhook the girth, DJ managed everything else. The October sun sparkled on the dew in the grass and highlighted a spider web on the fence.

  Pushing her fingers closed had become such a habit, DJ was no longer aware she was doing it. Whenever she sat down, she picked up the squeeze-me balls and kept working. If her ankle didn’t still hurt at times, she’d have been out running.

  But the ice packs were still part of her routine, and now, thanks to Gran’s advice, she’d started rubbing vitamin E oil into her hands. Gran said it would help the scars heal faster.

  Brad called on the last Wednesday in October. “So when can I bring Herndon back down for you?”

  DJ swallowed before answering. “I … I don’t think I’m ready for him yet. Bridget said I could ride Megs as soon as I can jump again.” I wish I

  trusted Herndon, but I don’t. If he runs away with me, I don’t think I can stop him.

  “How about I come get you next weekend, then, and you can visit him up here. Stormy’s forgotten who you are, I think. I take pictures out there to show her, but all she wants is carrots.”

  DJ chuckled over the ache his words brought. Her little Arabian filly was growing up without her.

  “Let me ask Mom, and I’ll call you back.”

  “Okay. How is your mom?”

  “She says she feels as big as a house, but I think she looks beautiful. I felt the baby kicking last night. Awesome.”

  “Okay, kiddo. We’ll see you Saturday or Sunday, whichever works best for you. Jackie said to tell you she’ll put the pasta on.”

  They said good-bye and DJ hung up the phone. Was she ready to ride Herndon? And could her hands be trusted to be even with the reins? No sense in teaching her horse bad habits.

  Or are you just afraid? That voice again. Were her reasons just excuses?

  “Your hands are looking good,” Dr. Niguri said in her appointment on Friday back at the UC San Francisco Burn Center. He checked DJ’s range of motion and nodded with a smile. “I can tell you have been working really hard. I was thinking we might need another skin graft, but now I don’t think so.” He traced a fingertip over the worst scars. “By this time next year these will be such fine lines, you will have to look hard to see them. It’s a good thing you are young and healthy and have a great attitude—all strong marks in your favor.”

  DJ glanced at her mother, who gave a minishrug. “My attitude isn’t always the best.”

  “You been down some?”

  DJ nodded.

  “Like way down, can’t see the sky looking up?”

  DJ nodded again. “All I wanted to do was sleep.”

  The doctor nodded and continued working her fingers. “Perfectly normal. I’d be more concerned if you were happy all the time. That would tell me you were covering up, and that’s not good. More dangerous in the long run.” He picked up the Jobst gloves and put them back on DJ’s hands.

  “When can I quit wearing these?”

  “We’ll start easing off, like a couple of hours at a time, in a month or so. Your hands could still swell up, and that would be a major step back. Don’t be in a rush to get rid of them. They’re doing you a big favor while all the muscles and tissue in your hands rebuild.” He stood. “So I’ll see you here in another month. How’s the ankle doing?”

  “Almost back to normal. But it aches when I’ve been on it too much.”

  “Well, pain is a good thing, you know.”

  DJ gave him a you’ve-got-to-be-crazy look.

  “Now, think this through.” He half-sat on the edge of his desk, arms clasped across the clipboard he held to his chest. “If that ankle didn’t hurt, what would you be doing?”

  “Walking more, running to get back in shape, riding more.”

  “Right, and keeping that sprain from healing correctly.”

  DJ sighed and nodded. He’d made his point. So now she had to be grateful for pain, too.

  “The earlier you learn to listen to your body, the wiser and healthier you will become. Our bodies are designed to heal themselves in miraculous ways. When we get enough sleep, eat right, and keep from more damage, the healing happens. And in your case, I’m sure all the prayers have accelerated the healing process. I wish all my patients had the prayer power behind them that you have had.”

  “Yes, we’ve been incredibly blessed that way.” Lindy used a tissue to wipe her nose and eyes. “We just can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for us.”

  “Glad I could help.” He ushered them to the office door. “Uh, DJ, if I ever have a patient that I think would be helped by talking with you, would you be willing?”

  “Sure. You want me to bring Major, too?”

  “The horse?” The doctor threw back his head and laughed, the kind of laugh that made everyone around laugh with him. “Probably not, but that story is still going around the hospital. How Karen dared to take you out there is beyond me. But it turned out well, so …” He chuckled again. “Sure wish I had seen it all.”

  They said their good-byes and DJ followed her mother out to the parking lot. She’d hoped they could go see Karen, but it was her day off. They headed home across the Bay Bridge, which arched across the bay from San Francisco to Buena Vista Island, and then on to Oakland. A

  huge cargo ship poked its prow out from passing under the bridge as they drove over. Thanks to their new higher-riding van, DJ could see the many ships and boats in the water below. A haze hung over the bay, blurring the edges of the cargo-loading cranes in the Oakland port and the skyline of San Francisco behind them.

  “So what are you planning for this afternoon?” Lindy asked as she changed lanes.

  “Teaching the jumping class at the Academy. Then riding Megs.”

  “Are you ready for that?”

  “Hope so. I can’t see her running away with me.”

  DJ had fun starting out the two ladies who wanted to learn to jump and were on riding school horses. She had them walking, then trotting, over the cavalletti just like Bridget had started DJ so long ago. They had to count the strides, and when she finally let them take the first jump, one of them laughed out loud with joy. DJ knew she was going to like the woman.

  By the en
d of class, the horses were sweating, the riders were sweating, and DJ wished she were. While she liked teaching, this standing in one place rather than jumping herself was the pits.

  “So you going to ride today?” Tony Andrada waited by the gate for her class to end.

  “How’d you know that?” DJ waved her pupils off and held the gate for Tony to ride through.

  “Word gets around. We sure miss you around here.”

  “We’ll, I’m back, sorta. And yes, Bridget wants me to try Megs today and see how we do.”

  “Jumping?”

  DJ shrugged. “Probably not the first day I ride her. Knowing Bridget, I’m going to be doing a lot of dressage to get back in shape.”

  She didn’t admit that the thought of jumping sent her resident butterflies into total panic.

  Chapter • 13

  “More leg, left leg.”

  DJ did as ordered, but after forty-five minutes on basic dressage drills, she felt limper than cooked spaghetti. If she focused on keeping her reins in anything close to a normal position, her legs turned flabby or her shoulders rounded or … there was always another or.

  “All right, DJ, that is enough for the first time.” Bridget crossed the arena to stand at Megs’ shoulder and laid a hand on DJ’s knee. “You must not try so hard. You are wearing yourself out with the tension.”

  “But …” DJ closed her eyes for a second, sucked in a deep breath, and let it all out. Her whole body sighed. “I am such a mess.”

  “No, you are recovering, and that will take time. Poor Megs was only confused a time or two. You know that you mainly guide her with your legs anyway, so do not worry so much about what your hands are doing.”

  “Or not doing.” DJ’s jaw ached because she had been clamping her teeth to keep her focus. Her mind still had a tendency to go off and play somewhere else, no matter what she ordered it to do. It was nearly November, and here she was sweating like it was July. And not from the heat.

  Her hands hurt, too. Even with the foam rubber on the reins, they dug into her tender flesh. Maybe she had been gripping them too hard.

  “I think you should not ride Megs every day. Then when you ride

  Major you can just enjoy yourself. You may do some of the drills, but only to refresh his memory. Not for perfection.”

  There goes that idea. DJ realized her mind had gone into high-speed planning to ride hours each day to gain her skill back. “All right, if you think so.” She almost said but before grabbing the word back. But could be termed argumentative, and Bridget didn’t tolerate arguments.

  “Thanks, Bridget, for loaning me Megs again.” She patted the mare’s shoulder. “You came out of retirement for me. Thanks, old girl.” Megs pulled at the bit, getting impatient with standing still.

  Back in the barn DJ asked one of the other student workers to unbuckle the girth and throat latch so she could remove the tack. At least she could grasp big things now, like a saddle.

  The twins followed DJ as she made her way upstairs to her room.

  “Do you hurt, DJ?”

  “Want some ice cream? Maria’s got Popsicles. You want one?”

  “Mommy’s taking a nap.”

  “You gonna take a nap?”

  “When can we ride General?”

  DJ tried to sort out their questions. “Yes, my hands hurt. Yes, I’d like a Popsicle. How about you ride General after dinner?” She let herself flop back on the bed, only to get a wet doggy kiss.

  The boys ran off to fetch the Popsicle.

  But when the banana-flavored treat came, DJ realized she would have done better with ice cream. At least that she could eat with a spoon. She groaned and shook her head. “Fiddle. Double fiddle.”

  The boys stared at her, each with a long Popsicle in his mouth, eyes round above it.

  Maria appeared at the door. “I bring you ice cream. Popsicle not good with sore hands.”

  DJ willingly surrendered the Popsicle and, taking the fat-handled spoon, dug in to Tin Parlor ice cream.

  Before she left, Maria arranged the pillows and laid the ice packs nearby for DJ’s hands. “You okay now?”

  “Yes, thank you. I didn’t think when I asked for a Popsicle.” DJ licked the fudge sauce from her spoon.

  “Good. Come, boys. DJ looks like she needs to sleep.”

  Halloween arrived without DJ donning a costume to answer the door for trick-or-treaters. After about the fourth group, Lindy took over because opening the door was starting to hurt DJ’s hands. Robert took the boys— one dressed as a cowboy, the other as an Indian, thanks to Gran’s creative sewing—to a party at school.

  When the horde subsided, DJ and her mother crashed at either end of the long sofa in the family room.

  “Would you unwrap this for me, please?” DJ handed her mother the Snickers bar she’d hoarded from the goody bowl.

  Lindy obliged and took another sip from her pink lemonade. “That’s one way to stay out of the candy, not being able to open the things.” She reached for another baby carrot. The doctor had said that she needed to slow down her weight gain or the baby would be as big as a toddler before birth.

  “Do you have time to read my manuscript one of these days?” Lindy waved her carrot in the air. “I need some suggestions.”

  “Sure. Don’t see how I could help, though. Gran would be better.”

  “Oh, she’s reading it, too. I just don’t want it to sound too … too …” Lindy crunched her carrot. “Too stuffy, too scholarly. I think it sounds like it was written by an MBA.”

  “But that’s what you are.”

  “I know, but it needs to read easier, I think—be more interesting.”

  “Whatever.”

  “As soon as I get it back from Gran, I’ll give it to you.” Lindy stared at her daughter, her mind obviously running somewhere else. “No, I’ll print you out a fresh copy. But not tonight.” She smoothed her hands over her beach-ball belly. “This one’s been busy today. Must be redecorating in there.”

  DJ smiled at her mother’s description. One day she’d been sure there were two and they were having a wrestling match. “What did the ultrasound show when you went today?”

  “Everything looks good. They’re still not positive it’s a girl—this little busybody keeps turning away from the camera. Never thought I’d have a camera-shy kid before it was born. The one technician is sure it’s a girl, though.”

  “A baby sister. Wow!”

  “But there’s still a possibility it’s a boy.”

  “Already got two of them.”

  “I’m just praying for a healthy baby. Boy, girl … the yellow trim and Noah’s ark work for either.” They’d finished decorating the baby’s room the week before, so all was ready.

  Lindy rubbed her belly. “Six weeks to go, and if I remember right, these seem the longest.”

  “The baby will be healthy. You’ve done all the right things.”

  “Just pray, too, okay?”

  DJ nodded. It wasn’t too long ago that her mother would not have mentioned praying or God’s will. She’d figured to leave all the praying up to Gran, who was a master at it. Robert had helped her change into a praying mom.

  DJ yawned and stretched. “I better see if I can get in an hour or two of studying before I hit the sack.” She gave her mother a kiss, got one and a hug in return, and headed for the stairs.

  Sunday after church, they all climbed in the Bronco and drove up to Gladstone Farms, Brad’s ranch in Santa Rosa.

  “Do we get to play with Stormy?”

  “How big is she?”

  DJ shrugged. “Not sure. I haven’t seen her since August, and that was three months ago. Foals grow fast, you know.”

  “How fast?”

  “Can we ride her?”

  Sometimes DJ wished they didn’t ask so many questions. “Nope. Can’t ride her until she’s at least two.” What would it be like to ride a filly she helped raise? Stormy had been DJ’s own horse since shortly after her birth. Showing
her in halter had been a blast.

  DJ looked at her hands. How long until she could show, whether halter, flat, dressage, or jumping? Bridget still had DJ on Megs two days a week riding dressage. No jumping until she could handle the reins better. But better didn’t seem to be happening anywhere near fast enough.

  They turned into the long, curving drive and kept to the right to go up to the house. Gladstone Farms, bordered by the river on the east side, lay around a center hill, where the house nestled amid ancient oaks and poplars; a tall redwood reigned above the azaleas and Liquidambar.

  Leaves ranging from scarlet to burgundy to gold still clung to some of the trees.

  Brad met them before they got out of the car. “Hi, all. Do you want to drive on down to the barn or walk?”

  Lindy smiled at his greeting. “I know I should walk, but how about we drive down?”

  “We can walk,” the boys chorused.

  “We’ll all ride.” Robert glanced at the boys in the rearview mirror.

  “Jackie and I will meet you down there, then.” He tapped on the glass of DJ’s back window and gave her a thumbs-up.

  Down at the low white barns, which less than a year earlier had been half filled with water from the catastrophic spring flooding, they climbed out of the Bronco. Robert had to shush the boys, who were wound tighter than a tornado.

  “You can run around out here, but in the barn you have to walk slow and not shout because you don’t want to scare the horses.”

  “We’ll be good” came the twin chorus.

  Brad hugged DJ, then kept an arm over her shoulders as Jackie hugged her, too. Jackie held DJ at arm’s length so she could make sure she was all right, then hugged her again.

  “I am so glad and grateful to have you here,” she whispered in DJ’s ear. “That was far too close a call. How are your hands? The rest, I can see, is beautiful as ever.”

  DJ held up her gloved hands. “I have to keep these gloves on so I don’t get any swelling. But I can almost touch my thumbs to my fingers now. See?” DJ focused on her right thumb and finger as slowly, slowly they drew closer together. She glanced up to catch the sheen of tears in Brad’s eyes. “I’m okay, Dad. Or I will be. Not to worry.”