Grounded: Michaela Page 10

  The calf tried moving away, its big brown eyes rolling fearfully. The mud was getting deeper, nearly to his waist. His lip curled in disgust as it sucked at his legs—cold, slimy dampness seeping through his jeans. "You better be worth this," he muttered to the calf as he looped the rope over its head. "You're not much for brains, though, are you?"

  The calf jerked against the rope, crying its misery.

  "You should have let me go in after him. I could have talked him out."

  Ty turned his head and narrowed his eyes at Michaela. "Give me a break. You can't talk an animal out of a mud hole."

  Michaela's lips twitched, and her green eyes glittered with laughter. Ty's temper skyrocketed.

  She whispered something in a language he'd never heard before, and the calf stopped bawling. Ty glanced at the calf, then back at Michaela. More foreign words came out of her. The calf calmly nudged past Ty, the mud making sucking noises as it freed itself. Michaela laughed, then continued speaking, holding her hand out to the calf.

  "Son of a friggin' bitch," Ty muttered as he watched the calf walk right out of the mud hole and up to Michaela, holding its nose out to her.

  Michaela dug a piece of carrot she kept for Ginger from her pocket, and fed it to the calf. "That's a good baby," she muttered and pet the beast as if it were a big puppy. "Go find your mother now."

  The calf turned and trotted away.

  Ty started the twenty-foot trip back to solid ground, his back teeth grinding in agitation. "You could have said something sooner. You could have kept me from slogging through this crap." His chest heaved with the exertion of fighting his way through three feet of sticky mud. "Damn it, Michaela. Would you explain how the hell you did that?"

  His foot slipped. He went down, face-first into the mud, his arms sinking up to the shoulders in the goo. That does it! He'd had enough. Enough of Michaela's Dr. Dolittle act. He fought his way to his feet and swiped his muddy face with an equally muddy hand. And now she was laughing at him. She'd probably been laughing the whole time she'd been living with him. Crying over steak. He struggled toward the edge of the mud, swiping his hands down his slickly coated arms. Bleaching his clothes. He slipped again, but caught himself before he took a nosedive.

  "You think this is funny?"

  Michaela was doubled over with laugher. He ignored the tiny warming of his heart at the happy sound. He was pissed, and he planned on staying that way, damn it.

  She laughed so hard she snorted. His lips twitched, a smile trying to escape. The hat had fallen from her head, and shoulder length curls surrounded her face, making her look like a madwoman.

  With a few more near slips, he climbed out of the mud. "You're going to pay for this."

  "I know!" She launched herself at him.

  Unprepared for her action, he fell backwards with a splat, right into the mud, with little Ms. Dolittle sprawled on top of him.

  Chapter Nine

  Her laughter turned into sputtering as mud flew everywhere. Ty grunted from the impact of her body. She hadn't hurt him, had she? Trying to blink the mess from her eyes, she stared at his shocked expression. "I'm…uh…" She tried to push herself off him but the soft, cool mud oozed through her fingers. "Oh…my goodness." She had no idea it would feel so wonderful.

  "What the hell is wrong with you, woman?"

  She scooped up two handfuls of the mud and rubbed it between her hands. She grinned. "Why didn't you tell me what it was like?" She let the mound of mud plop down on Ty's chest. "It's like the chocolate frosting from Jess's cake."

  "Yeah, well." Ty tried sitting up, but she still lay over him and she didn't want to move. She liked touching him, and the cool mud felt so good against her hot skin. He struggled for a moment then flopped back, throwing his hands out to the sides. "Don't eat it." He let out a long sigh and gave her the look that said he didn't know what to think about her. A look she was quite familiar with by now. He was probably trying to understand how she'd never felt mud before.

  He closed his eyes and sighed again. "You can get off me now, Michaela. You've made your point." Then he muttered, "Whatever the hell point you were trying to make, I'm sure you made it."

  Michaela giggled. "I don't think I have." She picked up another handful of the silky mud and plopped it right on his forehead.

  His eyes flew open. "What the hell? You are totally nuts!" He grabbed her arms with his mud-slicked hands as she burst out laughing again. His indignant glare sent her into near hysterics. He tried to pretend he was such a big, bad man, but she knew better.

  "What are you gonna do to me now?" she taunted, recalling the teasing the kids had done to each other at Jess's party.

  Ty growled and rolled over. Michaela's entire body sank into the squishy mud. Only her head remained above the brown goo. And that Ty cupped with his hand to make sure it didn't go under. Even when he looked so mad, he made sure nothing happened to her.

  She grinned up at him, lifted her arms, and wrapped them around his neck. Splats of mud landed on her cheeks, and she giggled. "I see why the calf came in here. It feels so good."

  "Crazy lady," Ty growled as he wiggled his way to his knees, pulling Michaela up with him. "You know your shirt will never be white again, don't you?"

  How could she get him to smile? To laugh? All morning he'd been scowling and grumpy. She shrugged. "I know how to use bleach."

  He pursed his lips and fought his way to his feet. The mud sucked and glopped around him, and the sound sent her into another fit of giggles. She had no idea what was wrong with her, but she couldn't stop laughing.

  "Ha, ha, very funny. Do you have any idea what it's going to be like getting this mud out of your hair?" He held his hand out to her. She took it and he pulled her to her feet.

  "Ty?"

  "What?" He'd just turned away to climb out of the mud and was pulling his shirt over his head, not bothering with the snaps. There was no mistaking the hostility in his voice. She'd angered him.

  No matter how many times she saw his bare body, she was never prepared for the way her own body reacted to it. His back was smooth, with rippling muscles in his shoulders and back. His arms were long, and all she could think about was how they felt wrapped around her last night, taking away her fear. She wanted to rub her hands, mud and all, over his skin. Shivering, she imagined what it would feel like to have the cool mud rubbed on her bare skin by his big, rough hands.

  "What?" he said again as he turned her way. "Don't tell me you're stuck now." He dropped his shirt on the ground and came back toward her.

  She shook her head. "I'm not stuck." Taking a few tentative steps, pushing her feet through the heavy weight of the slick mud, she moved toward the dry ground. Ty grabbed her wrist and hauled her the rest of the way out. She stumbled and landed against his chest, her face pressed against his shoulder. He sucked in his breath and firmly caught her by the shoulders.

  "You'll be the death of me, Michaela."

  When she looked up into his beautiful cinnamon eyes, she didn't see anger there. She saw anguish. That pain came back to her chest, the one she always felt when he was sad. She didn't want to be his death. She wanted to be his salvation. But he didn't want her.

  No, that wasn't correct. He wanted her. He just wouldn't let himself believe he was good enough to have her. But she knew with all her soul he was good enough. She couldn't imagine her mortal life without him.

  She took a deep breath, then forced a smile to her lips. "I don't think that rolling in a mud hole will kill you, Ty." Stepping out of his tender grasp, she turned toward Ginger.

  He let out one of those sighs he was so fond of when he didn't know what to think of her. "We better get back to the house before this all dries. You're going to find out just how cold the water is coming out of the hose. No way you're going to walk through my house dripping mud."

  She giggled. He was back to blustering, acting like he was still mad. "Yes," she said as she pulled herself up into Ginger's saddle, nearly slipping off the opposite
side because of her slimy jeans. She laughed as Ty lunged over to grab her waist before she gained her balance. "I wouldn't want to walk through the house like this because I'm the one who would have to clean it up afterwards. And the vacuum is still broken." She reined Ginger around. "Don't forget your hat," she threw out as she spurred Ginger away from Ty. "It's still in the mud!"

  * * * *

  That evening, Michaela finished the second of the two books Electra had given her, and she had the perfect idea for seduction. She smiled to herself. She liked that word. Seduction. Too bad she hadn't had the idea earlier when they'd come home all muddy and needed showers. She grinned as she set the book on the nightstand. Tomorrow morning would be the perfect time, though. Ty took a shower every morning before he even had his first cup of coffee.

  She heard the front door open and close, then Stryker came bounding into her room, jumped up on the bed, and licked her chin before she could push his nose away from her.

  "Yeah, it's bed time, you old mutt," Michaela said as she scratched his ears and rubbed his chin. The dog yawned big, making a squeaky sound like the rusty hinges of the barn door. Michaela laughed.

  "Hey."

  Michaela looked up at Ty standing in the doorway to her bedroom. "Hi." She tried holding back her smile, but remembering her plans for the morning, it was nearly impossible.

  He held up a piece of paper between two fingers. "Here's your first week's pay."

  "Pay?"

  His eyes closed for a moment, his jaw flexed. He'd been agitated and grumpy all day. Michaela knew she was the source of his discomfort, but she truly didn't know why.

  "Pay. Salary. Money for working here. Your paycheck." He dropped it on top of the chest of drawers near the door.

  "Money." She brightened. "Does that mean I could go into Unegi and buy some new clothes?" Electra had told her all about shopping and clothing. Though she couldn't imagine wearing anything like what Electra had been wearing, the idea of having a couple more shirts so she didn't have to do the laundry every night was very appealing.

  Ty pressed two fingers against his forehead. He looked like he might be in pain. "You have money in that black bag of yours. Why haven't you mentioned shopping before now? I thought maybe you were saving it for something more important than clothes."

  "I have money in my bag?" She scooted off the bed and went to the black leather bag that sat on a chair under the window. "Where?" She pulled out the little cards—her identification, her white book, and a stack of funny looking paper. None of it looked like the piece of paper he'd been holding.

  Ty's boots struck the floor hard as he came toward her. He grabbed the stack of paper from her hand and flipped it near her nose. "This is money," he growled. "Probably close to five grand."

  "Is that a lot?"

  "Would you like to explain to me how you have it and don't even know what the hell it is?"

  His eyes, they looked very…hard…right now. Michaela took a step back.

  "Answer me, Michaela. Why don't you know anything?"

  "I…"

  "At first I thought you were faking it, but you're not, are you?" He threw the paper back into the bag. "Where did you grow up? Who took care of you as a child? Were you in some strange foreign convent where men weren't allowed? No electricity, no running water? But even that doesn't explain mud. Mud, for Christ's sake. Everyone in the world knows what mud is." He stalked toward her as she backed up until she bumped into the wall.

  He wouldn't harm me, she reminded herself, even as fear ran a cold finger down her spine. Ty Brock looked very capable of hurting her right now. His hands came up on each side of her head, caging her against the wall.

  "I'm waiting for an answer."

  "I have no answer."

  His hands slid from the wall, curling around her shoulders. "Yes you do. Tell me."

  His voice was so unfeeling, so angry. Tears rushed to her eyes. "I can't. It's against the rules."

  He shook her once, not hard. "Whose rules?"

  Stryker barked, but Ty ignored the dog.

  "Gabriel's."

  "Who the hell is this Gabriel person?" He shook her again. "And why did he send you here?"

  The dog began a low growl.

  "I can't…" The tears started to fall then, she couldn't hold them back. She wanted to tell him. Needed to. But it was forbidden. "I can't tell you."

  He was relentless. "What language were you speaking when you talked to that calf today?" His hands tightened on her upper arms almost painfully.

  Stryker's growl turned into more of a snarl, and Michaela feared he'd hurt Ty.

  She twisted away from his grasp and shoved against his chest, moving him only far enough so she could step away from the wall. Laying her hand on the dog's head, she could feel his body shaking with agitation, much the way Ty's was.

  She swiped the tears from her eyes, angry at herself for not being a stronger mortal. "It's called the Greater Language. And I do know things. I know many things. I can read and write any language on earth. I can learn, Ty Brock. I have tried my best to learn everything I can about the mor—way of ranch life." She blew out a breath. "But you ask questions I cannot answer. What difference does it make where I'm from? If I am not satisfactory to you, then send me away." Her stomach clenched at the thought, but if he could not accept her, then what was the use of staying with him? She feared life without him, but she did have Electra. She wouldn't be completely alone.

  Ty's hands fisted at his sides. "Why can't you answer? Were you in jail? Are you a criminal?" He shook his head. "Trent couldn't find anything about you. Nothing. You just appeared one day. Is Michaela Smith even your real name?"

  Michaela sunk her fingers into Stryker's course, shaggy fur at the scruff of his neck. "I'm not a bad person, Ty. I've done nothing wrong in my life." If only he knew that her entire life consisted of the days she'd lived in his house. "I come from far away, a place very different than here."

  "Where?" he asked, tipping his head back and scrubbing his hands over his face. "Where?" He brought his eyes back to her. "And don't give me some nonsense about Iceland."

  She thought about the pictures she'd found in one of his magazines of Antarctica. Blue and white. That was more like where she was from. Pale blue and white. No bright sunshine, no dark night. No colors. A land of ice, only not cold. Not warm. There was nothing there. Space. A place where time meant nothing. Even if she was allowed to explain, how could she?

  "A land of ice," she whispered, not even realizing the words had come out. How could an angel's soul be so empty? Until experiencing emotions, she had no idea how empty her existence had been…up there.

  "A land of ice," Ty repeated.

  She looked up at him, saw something new in his eyes. They'd turned gentle, warmed. He stepped toward her and wrapped her in his embrace, holding her loosely against his wide, solid chest. "You've been hurt, haven't you?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against her ear.

  She tried shaking her head against him, but his hand cupped the back of her head and held her still. "It's okay, baby. I didn't understand."

  Michaela let out a heavy sigh. He still didn't. He was doing that mortal thing again, jumping to conclusions. She learned a lot about that while reading the romance manuals. Mortals really needed to take things at face value instead of seeing what they wanted to see in them.

  She felt his lips against her head. "It's okay. Tomorrow we'll go talk to Trent and get this straightened out. Whoever you're running from, we'll take care of it."

  She felt like growling the way Stryker did when he was unhappy. How could she make this man understand without telling him everything?

  She opened her mouth to tell him she wasn't running from anyone, but snapped her teeth together before any sound came out. He wasn't questioning her any longer. And he was holding her again.

  Her lips curled into a smile. This was exactly what she'd wanted. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she leaned against him, soaked in the warmth of his bo
dy through her robe, inhaled the spicy scent of his skin.

  Tomorrow, she'd use the shower trick to distract him from going to talk to Trent about some danger that didn't exist.

  * * * *

  Ty rolled out of bed at four-thirty the next morning. What was the point of lying in bed if sleep wasn't happening? After his confrontation with Michaela the night before about her past, he'd lain in bed all night, tossing and turning. Worrying.

  If she and Electra were hiding from someone, how dangerous might this person be? He recalled horror stories of parents locking their children in basements and closets their whole lives, keeping them from any contact with the outside world. That could explain her lack of knowledge of anything commonplace, like a washing machine.

  He pulled on his boxers and made his way to the bathroom. A hot shower, and then he'd head out to the barn for a couple hours worth of manual labor before breakfast. Maybe by then he'd be able to deal with Michaela without his emotions running on the jagged edge.

  He turned the tub tap on and stepped out of his underwear. Last night he hadn't known if he wanted to strangle her or make love to her. Hell, he thought as he stepped under the stinging spray, all he'd wanted to do since the moment he first saw her was make love to her. Even now, when he knew he couldn't have her the way he wanted, his body didn't listen.

  Leaning against the cold tiled wall, he let the hot water beat at his shoulders and neck. The relaxation techniques he'd taught himself while in jail hadn't worked last night. They weren't working now. No amount of slow breathing and finding his place of serenity was going to get rid of his erection.

  Giving in to his aching need for release, he curled his hand around himself, nearly groaning. He wanted it to be Michaela's hand that touched him. Imagining her hands on him, he closed his eyes, leaned his forehead against the wall, and slowly stroked himself.

  * * * *

  Michaela's eyes flew open at the sound of the shower. She rolled over and checked the clock on the nightstand. The lighted numbers said 4:37. He was up too early. She scooted out of bed and picked up her robe off the end. Stryker still slept soundly, his head on the other pillow.