High Hurdles Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I will.” DJ hugged them both and, after they said their good-byes to the others, walked them out to their car, the three of them with arms around one another’s waists, DJ in the middle. “Thanks for coming.”

  “I tell you, this is one Thanksgiving we won’t forget.” Brad turned and kissed DJ’s cheek. “And one we have so much to be thankful for. Keep up the good work, DJ. You’ll make it.”

  DJ waved as the Land Rover left the driveway, then hustled back to the kitchen. “Did they call yet?”

  When the phone rang a few minutes later, DJ and Sonja reached for it at the same time. This time the call came from one of Robert’s men. DJ said she’d give him the message and dictated the number for Andy to write down.

  Maria had more coffee dripping when the phone rang again. DJ mentally crossed her fingers.

  “We have a baby girl!” Gran announced before DJ could even say hello. DJ relayed the information, and while the others whooped and hollered, she tried to hear Gran’s voice. “Mother and daughter are doing fine. Robert about fainted.”

  DJ hung up, giggling at the picture in her mind of Robert flat on the floor.

  DJ took in a deep breath and prayed her “Thank you, God” on a sigh. She didn’t realize her shoulders had been nearly pinching her ears until they loosened up after she heard the good news. She called Brad and Jackie to tell them. Then Amy.

  “Can you believe it? I have a sister.”

  “Cool. You’re gonna love having a baby sister.”

  DJ told Amy about the panic of getting Robert in gear and the other funny stories of the afternoon. “My poor mom. There she was sitting in the car waiting for Robert to come drive her. I bet she let him have it.”

  “When are you coming back to school?”

  “I don’t know, maybe after Christmas vacation. I’m kinda wishing I could get Mom to homeschool me. That way I could spend more time catching up on my riding—when I finally get to jump again, that is.”

  “She has a brand-new baby and you want her to homeschool you?” The shock in Amy’s voice gave DJ a hint that her idea might not get a very popular reception. “Besides, I really miss you. We had another business club meeting, and I’ve got a stack of orders again. Did your mom find out about that group to package our cards?”

  “Got me. If she did, the information will be in her file. I’ll look tomorrow.”

  “Good, ’cause we gotta get on this.”

  DJ groaned.

  “Hey, what did they name the baby?”

  “Ahh.” DJ tried to remember which of the many discussed names they had finally agreed on, or if they had agreed. “They couldn’t make up their minds. A boy would have been Jeffrey Allan, so the girl is either Amanda Marie or … or …” Come on, brain, get in motion. “I don’t remember.”

  “Some sister you are.”

  Later, DJ hung up with those words in her mind. Yeah, some sister I am. She went in to play Go Fish with the twins. At least I can do that right.

  Gran and Joe came back a bit later when DJ was just getting the boys ready for bed. Maria was fixing snacks. Supervising the boys was supposed to be easier. At least it didn’t matter that her hands couldn’t pick up small things. They fit around each boy’s hands as she dragged them into the bathroom to brush their teeth. They still had the giggles, an everyday occurrence with them.

  “DJ?” Gran called.

  “Up here. Okay, hustle it, you two. I want another piece of pumpkin pie. And Gran and Joe are here if you want to say good-night.”

  “Why can’t they stay here?”

  “Why should they? Maria and I are here.”

  Bobby turned to Billy, Billy turned to Bobby, and off they went again, toothpaste trailing from their brushes to the sink.

  “Enough!” DJ made the time-out sign. “Knock it off or no bedtime story.” She glared at them, trying her hardest to keep frowning even though she would rather giggle along with them. But with any encouragement, they would giggle all night.

  They brushed, and spit, and rinsed, and raced into their pj’s, then bolted down the stairs to throw themselves at Gran and Joe. By the time DJ made it down the stairs herself, Joe had a twin under each arm, threatening to dump them in the birdbath.

  “How’s Mom?”

  “Tired but wonderfully happy. You have the most beautiful baby sister.”

  “Prettier than Stormy?”

  “Oh, you.” Gran swatted her on the rear and finished off with a hug. “What a circus that was here. I’ve heard of dithering dads, but I didn’t expect it of Robert.”

  “You have to admit, this caught us all by surprise.”

  “I know. Here we were thinking that if it came a bit late, we would have a Christmas baby. And instead she came at Thanksgiving.”

  “Maybe we should name her Turkey.” DJ sidestepped another swat.

  “Not funny. Robert is already calling her his little pumpkin.”

  “Gran.” DJ lowered her voice. “What did they finally name her? Even yesterday Mom still wasn’t sure.”

  “Amanda Marie. Isn’t that pretty? Just like her.”

  “Good, that’s the one I liked best.” DJ took her pumpkin pie foaming with whipped cream and sat on a stool at the counter. “Thanks, Maria.”

  She could hear Joe and the boys laughing in the family room as she cut off a bite and ate it. If what Amy said about new babies was true, life was going to be different around here. But how? And how much?

  “I love babies,” Maria said.

  “Me too. The more grandkids, the better.” Gran wore a sappy look that made DJ shake her head. What was so wonderful about babies? At least foals get on their feet within the first hour.

  Chapter • 15

  “All she does is sleep.”

  “Sometimes she cries.”

  “But not much. Amanda is really a happy baby.” Lindy held the sleeping infant down for the boys to bestow their nightly kisses on the rounded forehead of their two-week-old baby sister.

  “You said we got a baby sister to play with.” Bobby’s tone held accusation. Billy nodded in total agreement.

  “One of these days …” Lindy kissed each of her sons. “Go get your baths, and I’ll be in to kiss you good-night.”

  “When’s Daddy coming home?” Bobby always came up with one more question to put off going to bed. Robert had left for a business trip three days earlier.

  DJ recognized the ploy; she’d used it often enough herself. “Day after tomorrow. Come on, guys, hit the tub.” The twins, after one more beseeching look that earned them a headshake from their mother, tore down the hall and, running into the bathroom, slapped the tub.

  “We hit it.” Unison again.

  DJ paused in the doorway and rolled her eyes. “You two are too much.” She turned on the water to the right temperature and waited until they were in before going to their bedroom for the book she’d promised to read—if they washed behind their ears. “The Cat in the Hat. Are you sure this is the one you want? You have it about memorized.”

  “Read.” Pause. They looked at each another in silent communication, then in unison said, “Please.” More matching giggles.

  By the time DJ finished the story, the boys’ fingers had wrinkled and they were ready to get out. DJ enjoyed reading the book to them as much as they loved to be read to. She could remember Gran reading it to her.

  “Okay, put your toys in the sling and your towels on the rods—no, fold them first, you know how. There, good. Oh, come on, clothes in the hamper.”

  “I want to wear my jeans tomorrow.”

  “Gross, they’re filthy. You’ve got more jeans.”

  “But I like those best.” Bobby stuck out his bottom lip.

  “Tough.” She put a hand behind each head and guided them out of the bathroom and into their bedroom. When they were in bed, she bent and gave each a kiss. “Nighty-night. I’ll get Mom.”

  “Sleep tight, DJ.”

  She headed down the hall to her parents’ wing. Lindy
was just tucking Amanda back in the crib. She patted the baby’s back and turned out the light. “They’re ready?”

  “As they’ll ever be. I already read their story.”

  “Thanks for telling me. Last night they worked in two.” Lindy laid her arm across DJ’s shoulders. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

  DJ grinned. “Once or twice.” She put her arm around her mother’s waist. “Guess you never hear it too much, right?”

  “I’ll be in after I hear their prayers and read our verses.”

  DJ peeled off at her bedroom door and stared with longing at the pad of drawing paper she’d dug out of the drawer. “One of these days.” She squeezed her hands together, then set the fingertips of both hands together and pushed, bent, and pushed. No matter how much she bent and stretched them, it never seemed to be enough.

  With her utmost concentration, DJ could touch her fingers to her thumbs, but any automatic coordination between them all still was not there. At least she could turn pages easily now, and most of the time her mind kept track of things, so studying had become almost normal.

  That is, unless she had to write notes or the answers on a test. Or any test, for that matter. The pressure seemed to bring on confusion. And art was still out of the question. Now that she rode every day, drawing and jumping were the two things she really missed—so badly that sometimes it felt like her heart hurt with wanting.

  She left off the exercises when her mom walked into her room and sat down on the end of the bed. “Thanks for helping with the boys.”

  “You’re welcome.” DJ took the drawing pad from her bed and put it back in the drawer.

  “You’ve tried drawing?”

  DJ shrugged. “Some, but nothing’s coming yet. Even with the foam on them, I can’t seem to work a pencil right. I’m going to have to buy my Christmas presents. I had planned to make most of them.”

  Lindy cocked her head. “Do I hear Amanda crying?”

  “Uh-huh.” DJ leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Bet she’s hungry again.”

  “She’s a little pig, that’s what. She’d nurse twenty-four hours a day, I think.” Lindy pushed herself to her feet. “No wonder God gives babies to younger mothers. They have more stamina.” She leaned against the doorjamb. “Don’t worry about presents, DJ. People will understand, you know.”

  “I know. It’s just that I like to see people open presents I made.”

  “So,” Bridget said the next afternoon, “are you ready to jump?” “Am I ready? Did the sun get up this morning? Does a horse sweat?” “I get the picture. See you in the jumping ring in ten—no, better make it fifteen minutes.”

  If DJ’s feet touched the ground between the office and Megs’ stall, she never knew it. She groomed Megs in record time, saddled and bridled her, then snagged someone to tighten the girth and the throat latch on the bridle. Finally she’d regained her ability to use the hoof-pick. While she could now hold the reins properly—most of the time—she still lacked the strength and coordination to be able to squeeze and release the reins. The fear of a runout still stuck holes in her confidence at times.

  She’d tried mounting without the block the day before, but her hands didn’t have the strength to hold on to the saddle while she pulled herself up. But they were getting there. Soon, she’d promised herself. Soon.

  DJ rode Megs out to the ring and worked on the flat at a walk, trot, and canter while she waited for Bridget. The jumps were still low from her previous class as the teacher. Her two ladies were coming along just fine and having a great time. They called DJ names like “ogre” and “general,” so she knew she was being strict enough with them.

  DJ worked around the ring, reverse and walk, trot, canter again, circles, turns, and halts, then on to the cavalletti bars with a walk and trot again, all to perfect her timing.

  “Sorry I am late. The phone got me.” Bridget let herself in the aluminum-rail gate and crossed to the center of the ring. “All right, nice and easy, trot the cavalletti. Do not rush. There is no hurry.”

  DJ swallowed her butterflies, trotted Megs over the cavalletti, and popped over the low jump Bridget had set up at the end of the bars. They picked up a canter, DJ counted three, two, one, and while Megs scarcely noticed the effort, DJ felt that brief moment of flying. Her eyes blurred. She wanted to scream and shout, but instead blinked her eyes clear and counted the paces until the next jump. They completed the round of five jumps as tears streamed down her face. “I’m jumping again! Thank you, God. I am jumping again.” It was all she could do to stay in the saddle. Doing a Snoopy dance all around the barns sounded like a fun thing, about the only thing that could show how she felt.

  Was that the sheen of tears DJ saw in Bridget’s eyes, too? DJ stopped Megs so she could dry her eyes on the sleeve of her sweat shirt. She leaned forward and hugged the aging mare. “Thank you, old girl, for putting up with me. I know I wasn’t perfect, but you have no idea …”

  “You did well for all you have been through. Were you dizzy at all?”

  “Not then, but I think I am now. Dizzy with pure joy. Do you get dizzy from that?”

  “A different kind, but I think so. Your face is glowing, DJ. I am so happy for you that I cannot begin to tell of it. This has surely stretched my faith, too, and I thank our God for saving you and bringing you back to ride again.”

  DJ could only nod, her throat too tight to speak.

  “Now, are you ready to go again?” Bridget waited for DJ’s nod. “You were a little behind on one and ahead on another, so now maybe you can focus on the jumping along with the joy.”

  DJ nodded again before signaling Megs to take another round. This time she was able to pay more attention to her body and the fine-tuning that she needed. She counted the paces, made sure her mind didn’t wander, and always looked ahead to the next jump. Megs hesitated the tiniest bit at the in and out but cleared it with no problem. With low jumps like they were doing, it wasn’t so bad, but DJ knew her hesitance was enough to cause a bar to go down on a competition jump.

  When they finished the final round, clapping broke out from outside the ring. Bunny Ellsindorf, Tony Andrada, and a couple of others laughed and cheered. “Yay, DJ, you did it! You’re jumping again. Way to go.”

  DJ waved and stopped next to Bridget.

  Bridget patted her knee. “How do your hands feel?”

  “Tender, but not sore.” DJ dismounted since she could just swing her leg over and slide to the ground. She flexed her hands. “I keep working with the squeeze-me’s and I can tell a difference each week, but I have a ways to go yet.”

  “Squeeze-me’s?”

  “Those little rubbery bead-filled thingies. I’ve worn the rubber right off two of them. Of course, Queenie catching one the boys threw didn’t help it much. They’re better than the ball the therapist started me with.”

  “Whatever it takes. That is one good thing about you, DJ—you do whatever it takes.”

  “Thank you.” DJ marveled all the way back to the barn and on home at the compliment Bridget had given her. Compliments from Bridget were far better than trophies any day.

  “I think you can go back to school with the new semester,” Debra, the tutor, said on the last study day before Christmas vacation. “We’ll set your schedule for as much as you can handle at first, and with foam around pens and pencils, plus some other adaptations, you should be fine. Just spend time practicing your writing over vacation, and I’ll see you after the first of the year.”

  DJ didn’t mention she was hoping to talk her mother into home-schooling her, but in case she refused, the thought of going back to school pulled her forehead into a frown.

  “You don’t agree?”

  DJ shrugged. What was there to say?

  “What bothers you? You concentrate well again—except for when you get too tired—your hands are improving all the time, your hair is cute as can be …”

  “I don’t know. It’s just scary, I guess.”


  “Well, don’t worry about it, and have a merry Christmas.” Debra dug in her bag and brought out a package wrapped in red and gold paper. “Not much, but I thought of you when I saw it.”

  “Thank you. Do I need to wait till Christmas to open it?”

  “Of course.” Her dark eyes twinkled. “And thank you for being such a good student.”

  “You’re welcome.” DJ crossed to a stack of presents that looked as if the boys had wrapped them—only without as much tape. “This is for you. Sorry the wrapping isn’t better.”

  “Can I open it?”

  “If I can open mine.”

  “Okay, on three. One, two, three.”

  DJ used her teeth for the first rip, then got the box unwrapped. Pulling off the lid, she found tissue paper and finally a Christmas tree ornament of a jumping horse.

  “This is a picture you did?” Debra asked.

  DJ looked up to nod. “That’s Stormy, my filly, when she was only a couple of weeks old.”

  The framed pencil drawing showed the filly peeking out from behind her dam, her mother’s tail feathering across her little face and pointed ears.

  “She’s beautiful. Look at the mischief dancing in her eyes. DJ, you are an incredible artist. Thank you so very much.” Debra clasped the picture to her chest. “I’ll always treasure this.”

  At least I was an artist. DJ smiled in spite of the thought. “And me this. How perfect.”

  DJ walked Debra downstairs, where Maria met them with a plastic-wrapped plate of Christmas goodies.

  “Here, this for you. Feliz Navidad.”

  “Gracias, Maria, and feliz Navidad to you, too. Did you make all these?”

  “Sí.”

  “What a treat. Merry Christmas and happy New Year, DJ, and tell all your family for me, too.”

  After she left, DJ ambled into the kitchen. “Gracias, Maria. And thanks, too. That was really nice of you.”

  “She help you much. Need cookies.”

  “How about me?”

  Maria rolled her eyes and opened a plastic container for DJ, who helped herself to two Mexican wedding cakes, one of her favorite cookies.

  “See, I can even hold them.” DJ popped one of the powdered-sugar-coated cookies into her mouth. “But I don’t hold them for long.”