High Hurdles Collection Two (93 page)

“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 end 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.