High Hurdles (47 page)

But is that what I really want?
She tapped the eraser of her pencil against her chin. Always more questions.

“So what are you doing about Christmas presents this year?” Amy asked one afternoon. They were riding their bikes to the Academy for a change since it wasn’t raining. In fact, it hadn’t rained for a couple of days.

“I don’t know. My saddle fund keeps shrinking—at this rate I’ll be fifty before I can afford a decent, all-purpose saddle, let alone a good jumping saddle. What are you going to do?”

“I’m thinking of enlarging some of my photos and framing them. John said he’d help me make frames in wood shop.”

“Must be nice sometimes to have an older brother.”

“Yeah, sometimes. Other times I’d give him away in a heartbeat.”

“I already gave Gran and Joe one of my drawings for the wedding, so I can’t do that again.” They stopped at the top of the hill and waited for several cars to go by.

“You could for some of the others.”

“I guess, but frames cost a bundle, and I don’t have John to help me out. One thing about having more family now, I’ve got more presents to buy.”

“I still think you ought to be able to do something with your drawings.”

“But what?”

“I don’t know. Ask Gran.”

“Oh, sure, ‘Hey, Gran, what do you want me to make you for Christmas?’ ” They propped their bikes against the barn wall and headed over to the office to check the duties board. Since neither of their names were down for cleaning stalls, they heaved a collective sigh of relief.

“Have you two drawn names out of the bowl for the Christmas party?” Bridget called from her office.

DJ groaned. “Another present. I think I’m going to get a job at the Burger House.”

“Yeah, in your spare time.” Amy put her hand in the glass fish bowl and drew out a slip of white paper.

DJ did the same and groaned again.

“Now what?”

DJ held out the narrow strip for inspection. “Tony Andrada. Fiddle and double fiddle. Who’d you get?”

“Sue Benson. No problema.”

“Bridget, can I trade this name for another?” DJ put on her most imploring look. “Please.”

With a slight smile, the academy owner shook her head. “You know the rules. Oh, and, DJ, Andrew will not be in for his lesson today. He has a bad cold.”

“Probably got it so he wouldn’t have to groom Bandit. I’d hoped to get him mounted today.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“You kidding? But he’s no dummy. He’s learned to tack the pony up and lead him around. He might be driving a car before I get him on that horse.”

“I know you work hard with him, and his mother appreciates the care you have shown. Shame he is so frightened.”

“Shame they don’t let him play soccer or something instead.”

“Facing your fears is very important and part of growing up.”

“Yeah, well,
I’m
afraid I won’t have presents for Christmas.” DJ stuck her hands in her Windbreaker pockets. “See ya later.” She turned and headed out the door, knowing full well that she hadn’t mentioned what she was really afraid of—meeting her father.

That night, she took out her portfolio of her best pencil and charcoal drawings and studied each one. While many of them were of Major, she had foals, yearlings, and horses jumping, walking, grazing, and lying down. The one of a horse rearing wasn’t quite right, and she flipped past it quickly. She also flipped past the drawings she’d added riders to—she was better with horses than people. While she’d been tempted to throw out the sketches from her early years, Gran had told her to keep them so she could see how she’d grown. Her growth as an artist was obvious, even though the subject matter was limited to horses.

DJ turned out the light. Only three days until D-day. And only fourteen more days to figure out Christmas presents.

Chapter
•
9

“Are you okay?”

DJ looked up at her mother waiting in the doorway. “Yeah, why?”

“You’ve been so quiet lately.” Lindy motioned to ask if she could come in, and DJ patted the edge of her bed. “Is it about your dad?”

“Sorta.” DJ pushed away her art pad, flipped over on her back, and studied her mother. As always, Lindy looked like she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Her emerald green silk lounging outfit whispered secrets as she sat down and turned to rest one knee on the comforter.

“What do you mean by ‘sorta’?”

DJ sighed. “For starters, what do I call him?” She crossed one ankle over her other knee.

“Mr. Atwood seems kind of weird, doesn’t it?” Lindy said, nodding. “And you can’t call him Brad because Gran and I would have a fit.”

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.