High Hurdles Collection Two (100 page)

By the end of the day, DJ and Herndon had won one third, a fifth out of a class of thirty, and a first in Junior Hunter. Junior Jumping would begin first thing on Sunday morning.

Fifteen junior riders circled the schooling arena at 9:00
A.M.
on Sunday. DJ had Herndon warmed up and ready; they would be jumping third, and Tony was number ten. DJ circled the ring again, all the while trying to ignore the show going on in her middle.
Calm, stay calm. Please, God, keep me calm
.

The announcer called the first rider. She trotted through the entry gate to a smattering of applause, and DJ continued around the practice ring. The announcer called a perfect round and introduced the next rider, this time a boy DJ had seen at other shows. His horse was acting up already. He knocked down a bar.

One down.

“Number three is DJ Randall riding Herndon.” The applause rose, fell, and rose again as she trotted into the arena.

“Okay, big horse, let's do it.” She swallowed hard as they cantered toward the first jump, a post and rail.
Three, two, one
, and they were up and over, smooth as could be and on to the next. The ten jumps disappeared beneath Herndon's flying hooves: the in and out, a brush jump, a turn and over the wall, a water jump, and a chicken coop, with a triple being the last and highest with a wide spread on the out. Herndon acted as if they'd been out playing as he cantered through the exit gate.

DJ felt like they'd conquered the world. “Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She threw her arms around Herndon's neck and squeezed hard. “Thank you, big horse. You're so awesome.”

“DJ, did you know you're on the front page of the
San Jose Mercury

News
?” Amy held up the paper with a big picture of DJ and Herndon and another of DJ accepting the plaque.

“You're in the
Sunday Chronicle
, too.” Brad gave her a proud-father smile. “Way to go, kiddo.”

Four entrants had jumped while she visited with her family and friends at the far corner of the ring. DJ had heard some of the announcements but not all.

Joe caught her questioning look and said, “So far three out and four in, including you.”

“I better get us moving again. Talk with you later.”

She moved Herndon back out into the pattern of riders and picked up a slow trot. Tony passed her. “Way to go, DJ. We're all the way.”

“You just show 'em how.”

When Tony finished his round, he had done just that. Another perfect score. The next round the field had narrowed to seven. The attendants raised the bars three inches and cleared the arena.

DJ jumped second this time, another perfect round following a perfect first rider. The next two hit the bars. Tony jumped a perfect round; the one following him hit; and the last one ticked—the bar rocked but didn't go down, so she was in for the next round.

With four riders left, the bars were raised another three inches, to four feet. The attendants removed one of the brush jumps and switched two others around.

Herndon cleared them all, including the direction change, with room to spare and a tail that flicked an
I told you so
. DJ had to laugh when they exited. Herndon snorted and jigged sideways as she drew him down to a walk.

This round left three riders, DJ and Tony included. The bars went up three inches again with more changes.

DJ now jumped first. When they called her number, she patted Herndon's shoulder. “This is it, big horse. They're getting high now.”
Real high. Oh, Lord, please help us do our best
.

The wall looked enormous. Good thing they flew over it before DJ had time to panic. The same for the chicken coop and the brush; they all looked much higher than the others, but Herndon took each one in stride. They jumped as if they were one entity, with DJ high on his withers and Herndon with his ears pricked forward toward the next jump. They cantered out of the ring to thundering applause.

Her heart pounding, DJ accepted a bottle of water from her father. “Thanks, I needed that.” She heard the crack when a horse's hoof hit a bar and the groan from the audience that told her the bar hit the dirt. “Well, he's got third place. Come on, Tony, you can do better than that.”

“You want to go again?” Robert took back the half-empty bottle.

“They look awful big, huh?”

“You aren't just a-foolin'. See ya.”

DJ rode out so she could keep moving. They had mountains to jump.

Tony cantered out of the ring without the fatal crack. “It's you and me, DJ, just like I said it would be.”

This round they would be timed with only eight jumps and a change of direction.

While she'd never been timed competitively before, DJ felt as calm as if she'd just been riding for pleasure. She patted Herndon's neck, took in a deep breath, and let it out. They were off. Cantering smoothly, they took each jump as if they were having the time of their lives—which they were. Count, forward and lift off, sail, and touch down. At the brush she heard a tick but kept on. The bar stayed in place and they finished with a perfect round.

“Close, big horse. That was close.”

Tony touched a finger to the brim of his helmet. “Don't make it easy for me.”

“I didn't.”

The applause told her if the lack of a hoof cracking a bar hadn't— Tony jumped a perfect round.

“These two are having too much fun out here,” the announcer said. “But the bars go up to four feet, six inches with a wider spread. How high can these kids go?”

DJ wondered the same thing. Herndon grunted when he leaped for the wall, but he cleared it and snorted when he landed. DJ looked ahead and refused to panic. So what if the brush jump fell? But it didn't. They jumped a clean round again with good time.

The crowd went wild. DJ's heart raced as if to leap out of her mouth. “We did it, big horse, we did it! Thank you, Lord Jesus, we did it.” Her legs felt like weak string. Her hands itched inside her gloves where the sweat had puddled.

The announcer called for Tony. A hush fell. The sound of his horse's hooves thudded through the sand. He cleared jumps one and two, then on to the next. DJ heard the crack on the third bar of the in and out, and it toppled to the ground. The crowd groaned. DJ groaned.

Tony cantered out of the ring and toward her. “You did it this time, DJ, but I'll take the next one, you just watch.” His grin said he meant every word.

The crowd went wild when DJ and Tony trotted back into the arena to pick up their ribbons.

“These two do the Briones Academy proud, folks, wouldn't you say? They both train with Bridget Sommersby, and you can tell she coaches them well. DJ Randall on Herndon in first place, followed by Tony Andrada on Xavier in second. Our third place ribbon goes to …”

DJ didn't hear the rest. She could see her two dads jumping up and down, yelling at the top of their lungs. The rest of the family was on their feet, clapping and shouting. DJ waved and shook the hand of the presenter.

She looked at Tony. “One day the Olympics.”

“You got it. The Olympics.” They trotted out of the ring together.

Epilogue

DJ Randall looked out over the sea of faces, the spotlights blinding her.

The higher center block held the riders from Germany, winners of the gold medal for the third time in a row. She glanced up to catch the smile of Helmut von Friedrichs. Her heart skipped a beat like it always did when he smiled at her.

Beside her on the right side, the silver side, clustered her teammates. Two points from the gold—that's all they'd missed it by. She'd done her part, though. She and her horse, His Honor, won the Grand Prix, show jumping.

The members of the French team stood on the bronze block.

Sweat trickled down DJ's back. It had been so hot, a big problem for the teams. Both horses and riders suffered from the heat and humidity, as did all the other Olympic contenders.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the medal winners of the Equestrian events.”

The official hung the ribbons with gold medals around the necks of the German team, and their national anthem echoed through the stadium. DJ shifted so she could reach up and take Helmut's hand. He squeezed back, tears streaming down his face, facing forward for all the world to see.

When the music finished, the names of the Americans were called. While the list didn't include Tony Andrada or Hilary Jones, DJ knew they were both out in the crowd. She bent her neck to accept the silver medal. As she felt it settle in around her neck, she lifted her head, tears blinding her eyes, and put her shoulders back. She'd done it. They'd done it. An Olympic medal. The dream had begun as a little girl.

“Thank you, Father,” she whispered. “Thank you far more than I can say.”

She turned to look again at Helmut. In two weeks they would be married. Although she never would have believed it before, that gold ring was now more important to her than Olympic Gold. She felt a shiver begin in her toes and work its way up. “Way to go, God!”