High Hurdles by Lauraine Snelling Read Free Book Online

eyes in the morning. “Offer Western or English pony parties,” she muttered as she wrote. She studied the page. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. She flipped off the light and snuggled back under the covers.
    But now her mind wouldn’t shut down. Instead, it traveled back to the session with her mother and Gran. Gran could always be counted on to pitch in with a new project, but not her mother. She’d never seen her mother in business action before. If she was this way at work, it was no wonder she usually made top salesperson for the company.
    So how come she can never find time to be with me? DJ let the thought peek out of the internal box where she kept things that hurt too much to think about. Maybe if I wore dresses sometimes  . . . The thought made her gag. I do look pretty good when I’m dressed for a show . She had to believe that. Bridget said as much, and she never gave out compliments just to give them out.
    It’s just me. I know it is. I leave things around, and I can’t help the smart mouth. The words leap out before I can stop them. It’s probably even my fault my father left. Images floated through her mind. There weren’t any of her father. Most of her memories were of her and Gran. She didn’t remember much about Grandpa, either. He died when she was four.
    “Dear God, I’m sorry for all the stuff I do wrong. Thank you for Gran and for Mom. Help me to do my best. Amen.” She flipped over to her other side. Maybe now she could go to sleep. “Oh, and, God, please take care of Diablo—wherever he is.”
    Each day the empty stall reminded her again of Diablo. Where was he? How was he? Was anyone exercising him? Did they give him carrots and brush his flanks carefully? He was so ticklish!
    That afternoon when she finally got home, she fixed herself a sandwich and took it in to watch Gran paint.
    “Hi, dear. Say, that looks good. Would you mind fixing one for me?”
    “You haven’t eaten? It’s after three.” DJ bit her tongue before she said what she thought. Gran forgot all about eating or anything else when the “creative genius,” as she called it, took over.
    Gran flinched. “I know, I know better. But I lost track of time.”
    “I’ll fix yours. You want mayo or mustard?” DJ threw the questions over her shoulder on the way back to the kitchen.
    “Mayo if it’s tuna; mustard with baloney.”
    When DJ got back, Gran stood in front of the easel studying the forest scene she was painting. “That’s a new one. I like the trees.”
    “Umm.” Gran took the plate DJ offered without taking her eyes from the easel. “It needs more depth. I want the reader to feel as if they can’t resist that path any more than Tara can.” She crossed the room to her wing chair and nestled into it. Tara was the name of the character in the book she was illustrating.
    DJ still stood in front of the painting. “Makes me want to go there.”
    “Darlin’, ‘go’ is your middle name. But thanks for the compliment. So how’d you do this morning?” She took a bite of her tuna. “Who taught you to make such good sandwiches?”
    DJ grinned at her. “You did.”
    “Really?” Gran studied the bread. “But then you do all kinds of things well. Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?”
    “Thanks, Gran, I needed that.” She started on the second half of her sandwich, trying not to talk with her mouth full but wanting to catch Gran up on everything that had happened. When she told about James calling her “cat eyes,” Gran shook her head, sending the tendrils of hair around her face to swinging. “That poor boy. Mark my words, something tragic is going to happen there.”
    “Yeah, I might pound him into the dust one of these days.”
    “No you won’t. You’ll keep on praying for him like we said . . .”
    “ You said,” DJ muttered.
    “Like we agreed.” Gran sent her one of those smiles that made it impossible to argue.
    “But if I had a horse like his,