“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.”
“Easy for you to say.” He drew her close to his side. “One thing’s sure, you look a lot better than you did two months ago.” His shudder said it all. “Let’s go see your friend. I told Herndon you were coming, and he put on his best suit.” Letting go of her, he slid the barn door open. They stepped into an aisle that ran the length of the barn, with foaling stalls near the door and individual stalls farther down. Shavings covered the dirt floor, and brass nameplates glinted on the stall doors.
DJ whistled even though Herndon had most likely forgotten. But a whinny, not a nicker, let her know he heard—and remembered. His fine head reached out of the stall door, and he banged a hoof in impatience.
DJ felt her throat clog. “He remembers me.”
“He’s not such a snob anymore. I think that fire scared the snob right out of him,” Jackie said.
“Did he get burned anywhere?”
“No, you got him out first before the fire spread too far. He fared better than some of the other horses, but they all lived thanks to you and your quick thinking.”
DJ stopped in front of Herndon and let him snuffle her arms, face, and hands before he nudged her chest. “Yeah, big man, I brought you treats.” DJ fumbled in her sweat shirt pouch and brought out a horse cookie—Herndon’s favorite. He took it from her palm and, even while munching, leaned into her fingers as they stroked his cheek, his ears, and down his long neck.
When Brad opened the stall door so she could go in, Herndon moved over but not away. He even lowered his head so she could reach more easily.
“He’s never been like this before.”
“I know. I told you, we have a different horse here than we did before.” Jackie joined them in the stall. “After he calmed down—for a while any noise startled him—he let this mellow side show. I’ve been riding him so he doesn’t get rusty, and he’s pure pleasure to ride now. You want to try him?”
DJ held up her hands. “I still have to use the foam rubber on the reins and can’t grip tight enough, so I guess not.”
“You think we’d let something like that stop you?” Brad showed her the fat reins on Herndon’s bridle. “Jackie has ridden him with the new bit so he won’t be surprised. You don’t have to, but …”
How could she say no? DJ swallowed the butterflies that had suddenly woken up and started their aerial show.
What if he runs away with me? Can I stop him? DJ hoped her fear didn’t show on her face. But Herndon would sense it anyway.
“How about we put him on a lunge line for you. That way you can get the feel of him again without having to worry about controlling him.” Jackie took the bridle off the hook and set about tacking him up.
“Yes, please.” Now, why didn’t you think of that? DJ had hoped her resident nag had stayed home. No such luck. “I’ll have to use a mounting block. Can’t pull myself up yet.”
“No problem. There’s one in the arena. You want to ride inside or out?” Brad handed Jackie the saddle.
“Inside, I guess.”
“You got a horse for us to ride?” Bobby or Billy asked.
“Shh.” Lindy reminded them that the question wasn’t polite.
“Sure do, but she’s bigger than your General.”
“That’s okay.” But when the boys started to jump, Robert laid a heavy hand on each of their shoulders.
“How about we let DJ ride first, and then we’ll saddle up the old girl for you,” Brad suggested.
“What’s her name?” chimed the Bs.
“We call her Queenie because she’s been around the longest.”
“Like our dog! Is she black-and-white?”
“Nope, dapple-gray.”
While they chattered, DJ felt her shoulders tense, along with the muscles down her back. Herndon was acting like her long-lost friend right now, but he might switch personalities and go back to who he used to be right quick.
“You ready?”
“I guess.” DJ knew her reply was barely lukewarm, but it was all she could manage at the moment. Oh, God, please don’t let me fall off.