Grounded: Michaela Read online

  He nodded. "I'm Ty Brock. What can I do for you?"

  As she stepped forward, he held out his hand to shake hers. She hesitated for an instant, then thrust her hand out, almost as if mimicking him. "I'm here to help." In her other hand she held what looked like a medical bag, something from a hundred years ago.

  Releasing Stryker's collar, he took a step toward her and folded her small, soft hand in his.

  There it was. That feeling of relief he'd expected to find when he read the letter from the parole board. He snatched his hand back. "Help with what?" His voice was a bit gruffer than he intended, but the sensation that'd sprung through him when he touched her unnerved him.

  She glanced at the front of the house, at the barns across the wide yard, at the cattle pasture. Then her amazing green gaze settled back on him. "You need help. I'm here."

  Wait just a second. She was here about the job? A soft chuckle came out as he thrust his hands in his jeans pockets. "I'm sorry ma'am, but I'm looking for a ranch hand. No offence, but I need a man for the job. You're…a bit on the small side."

  She licked her lips, very full, sensual lips. Not that he was noticing those things. Nope. Women weren't for him any more. He gave those up along with the gambling. They only led to trouble.

  "I was told to come here and help you." Her brow wrinkled into a pretty little frown.

  "Who told you to come here?"

  "Gabriel."

  Ty shook his head. "I don't know anyone named Gabriel."

  She glanced around again, this time as if looking for help. "No, I suppose you don't." She returned her gaze to his face. "But I assure you, I need to be here."

  Ty glanced at Trent who stood behind the woman. Trent shrugged. He wasn't going to be any help.

  "What is it you're supposed to help me with? Are you from the Phoenix Agri School?" He'd sent them a letter asking about mixing certain breeds of cattle. Perhaps they'd sent one of the students.

  "No."

  "Where are you from?"

  "Far away."

  Ty let out a long breath. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I just don't think I can use your help at this time. I'm looking for someone to work the ranch with me."

  She bit her bottom lip. Her gaze dropped to his side. "A dog," she whispered. Then she fell to her knees and held out her arms to Stryker. And the mangy mutt, who didn't like anyone, practically jumped into her arms, knocking her to the ground. Stryker licked her face, waggled his crooked tail, and whined like a damned puppy as the woman ran her hands over his humungous head and back.

  Ty grabbed his chest as her sweet laugh sent a physical ache through him.

  "Hey, buddy," Trent said as he grabbed Ty's arm. "What's wrong?"

  Ty shut his eyes for a moment, closing out the sight of this weird little woman rolling on the ground with his dog.

  "You need to go see Doc?"

  Ty shook his head. "I'm fine." Her laughter rang in his ears. "I'm fine. I think. The beer," he qualified. "I drank that beer. Haven't had a drink in three years." He laughed it off with a nervous chuckle. "Guess I'm officially a lightweight now."

  Trent let go of him and he sank down onto the porch steps. He took a deep breath. The ache was gone. Whoa. Gotta get this woman outta here, pronto. She was lying on her back in the dirt, seemingly unaware that she was now covered in dust, while Stryker sprawled over her, panting, his head resting on her breasts. The damn mutt looked as content as a kitten.

  "What do you want me to do with her?" Trent whispered.

  "I'll take care of her." Ty's eyes widened as he turned toward Trent. Where had that come from? He wanted her off his property. "Maybe I can get her to do some housekeeping or something." He literally bit his tongue before he said anything else.

  Trent raised his eyebrows. "You sure?"

  Ty nodded. He hadn't meant to. "If her sister's working for Stephen, then she's going to need a job, too." He buried his face in his hands. Words were coming out of his mouth before he could stop them. Maybe he'd finally gone over the edge. Maybe that beer had done him in. Whatever it was, he had to get Trent to take the woman with him when he left.

  He raised his head to ask Trent to take her. "Besides, when have you seen Stryker take to anyone like that?" Holy shit!

  "Yeah, you're right on that. He's acting like a puppy rather than the temperamental beast he usually is."

  Take her. "She'll be fine."

  "You're sure? I'll let you know what kind of report comes back on her and her sister. Where will she stay? It's a long way back into town from here."

  No. Take her. Take her back to her sister. "The ad I placed stated room and board. Lord knows, I've got plenty of room." Ty squeezed his eyes shut. He'd lost his mind.

  "Okay, then. I'll be going. Lina's expecting me for supper tonight."

  Ty nodded.

  "Lina says to remind you that you're invited out on Saturday night for a barbeque. Jess's birthday. She's turning sixteen."

  This time Ty's faculties didn't fail him. "Thanks, Trent, but I don't think so."

  "Come on, Ty. You've got to stop hiding out here. You never come into town."

  Ty snorted. "No one wants to see my mug in that town. Not after what I've done."

  "You're wrong, Ty. We worry about you."

  "You worry about me. No one else does."

  Trent sighed and headed for his cruiser. "You're wrong. Lina worries, and my mom, too. And Stephen. We want you back."

  Ty shook his head. "Thanks anyway."

  "Miss Michaela, I'm leaving now," Trent said to the woman on the ground, the dog pinning her down.

  She grinned up at Trent. "All right."

  "You're sure you want to stay here?" Trent glanced at Ty as if he couldn't decide whether or not to leave the woman in his care.

  Ty opened his mouth again to tell him to take her, but all that came out was, "She'll be fine."

  "Oh, yes," the woman said. "This is where I belong." She gently nudged Stryker off her and stood up. "Thank you for the ride, Trent Godfrey. I much appreciate it." She'd said Trent Godfrey the way she'd said Ty Brock, like one word.

  Trent nodded. "Have a good day, then." He pulled a card from his shirt pocket. "My number is on here if you need anything."

  Chapter Two

  Michaela watched Trent Godfrey pull away then stared at the tiny paper card he'd handed her. His number. How very odd. How was she to use a number if she needed him? Not that she thought she'd need him. She'd found Ty Brock. Now she had to figure out what his problems were and fix them. She sighed. This business of helping people was harder than she thought it would be.

  She turned around and found Ty Brock still sitting on the steps. He absently ran his hand over the dog's head and stared at her with a strange expression on his face.

  Water prickled her forehead and the back of her neck. She looked up at the crystalline blue sky. How could there be water on her forehead when it wasn't raining? She wiped her hand over her brow. Earth was a lot stranger than she would have imagined. When looking at it from up there—she glanced up at the sky again—it was so blue. It wasn't blue here. It was brown and red and green. Only the sky was blue. It was starting to get dark, the sun setting. She'd heard about that. Time, hours passing, day and night, but up there, it didn't get dark.

  "Want a beer?" Ty Brock asked.

  A beer. She went to the bag she'd dropped when she played with the dog. She liked the dog. He was friendly. Ty Brock didn't seem especially friendly. She didn't think he liked her much. She pulled her book from the bag and looked up beer. Alcoholic beverage made from grain, brewed by slow fermentation. Hm. Beverage. Drink. Thirst. She put it all together. You drink it. She noticed for the first time that her throat felt a bit scratchy and her tongue wasn't as moist as it once had been.

  "Yes. A beer. Thank you." She slipped the book back into the bag and picked it up. Ty Brock still sat on the step, his brows pulled into a frown. He had the strangest colored eyes. She'd seen blue, brown and green, and one lady at the clinic
where she'd left Electra had gray, but his were an odd shade of brown. Almost a tiny bit red. Like some of the colors in the mountains. Rust, she thought it was called.

  "Where did you say you were from?" Ty Brock asked.

  "Far away," she answered, once again. Why did everyone keep asking her that? No one would believe the truth. Gabriel had warned them. But she couldn't exactly lie either. That was against the rules, too. Well, His rules, anyway. She knew that mortals lied a lot. He frowned on it, though it wasn't the worst sin that could be committed.

  "How far away? California or New York? Europe maybe?"

  Oh dear, he wasn't going to accept this. Mortals were a curious lot. They always wanted to know how everything worked. She'd spent quite some time reading about these people they call scientists. Trying to figure out how evolution worked. A little noise slipped out of her, startling her. A laugh? That felt kind of good. Anyway, mortals would never figure out evolution.

  "You probably should come inside, out of the heat. Trent said you passed out earlier."

  "Yes." She'd fainted. Losing a piece of time was definitely an experience. First she was staring at Trent Godfrey's gun, then she was in his car.

  Ty Brock stood up. "Come on, then." He walked into the house. The dog followed.

  She walked up the steps and through the door. Inside it was cool and dark. Breathing became easier. The dog's tail thumped against her legs. She'd always wanted to touch a dog. Special creatures, they were. Put on earth to be companion to the mortals. Though mortals rarely understood them. A design flaw to be sure, though she didn't know if it was a flaw in the mortals, or the animals. Probably the mortals.

  "Well, shut the door," Ty Brock said. "No need to cool off the great outdoors."

  She pushed the door shut and followed him through a big room with sitting furniture. There were books on the table near the big sitting thing. Books. She loved books. You could learn so much from them. Through another door, they were in a white room. The floor, the walls, well, they were actually kind of gray. He opened a door on a rectangular box and pulled out a bottle. "Here. Though, now that I think of it, if you've got heat exhaustion, beer's probably not the best for you."

  She took the bottle from him. It was cold. She smiled and held it against the skin of her neck. "Oh, that feels lovely." She closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation as the bottle cooled her skin. She wished she could be completely surrounded by this coolness.

  Fingers touched her and she jumped back from surprise.

  "Easy there," Ty Brock said as he stepped toward her. He touched her forehead again, then her cheek. "I think you've gotten yourself overheated. Maybe you should go take a cool bath."

  His touch—oh dear, oh dear. She could feel his touch in her stomach. That couldn't be normal. He touched her head, and her stomach tickled. She was sure that was a tickle. She wanted to smile, to laugh, but her face felt like it didn't work.

  "Are you scared of me?" Ty Brock asked. His forehead did that frown thing again. "I'm not an axe murderer or anything. You're the one who came here looking for work."

  "No. I'm not scared of you," she said. She wasn't sure what fear felt like, but she was pretty sure she wasn't feeling that right now. She had no idea what she was feeling, but fear—fight or flight—wasn't making her tummy tickle.

  She took a deep breath, and a smell made her nose flare. She was smelling him. And he smelled very pleasant, not like the cows. She knew that smell. It was their excrement. Or the dog, which smelled earthy. He smelled like…well, Trent Godfrey had smelled kind of the same. But Ty Brock's smell was unique.

  Then her stomach did something even odder than the tickle. It felt like it was rolling and a horrid sound came from it. She glanced down at herself. It hadn't moved. Oh dear, her mortal body wasn't working properly.

  A sound came out of Ty Brock and she looked up. He was smiling at her. The skin near his eyes crinkled up. He must be what's called handsome.

  "You're hungry. Why don't you go take a bath? I'll throw on some steaks. The bathroom's down the hall." He pointed at the room they'd come through. The one with the books.

  She nodded, but didn't know what a bathroom was. Or a bath she was supposed to take.

  "There's a robe on the back of the door,"—he glanced at the black bag she held—"in case you don't have anything to wear."

  Robe. A piece of clothing she understood. She had the clothes on her, but she had noticed she didn't have any more. She thought mortals changed their clothes every day. She nodded again, then turned away, taking her cold bottle and her bag with her.

  * * * *

  "Wonder what turnip truck that woman fell off of," Ty muttered as he pulled two steaks from the fridge he'd thawed that day. He scrounged through the vegetable bin and found a couple potatoes that hadn't grown too many eyes.

  He couldn't figure her out. She'd gone to that book when he asked her if she wanted a beer. Trent was right, she was odd. Well, if she could cook and clean, it wouldn't be too bad having a woman around. She was easy on the eyes, that was for sure. With all that hair and that body. God, she had a great body. He wished he could see this twin sister of hers. Two of them, well, that thought made him grin.

  He lit the grill on the back porch and closed the lid so it would heat. After scrubbing the potatoes and popping them in the microwave, he took the steaks outside. Just as he was stepping out the door, he realized he hadn't heard the water come on. In this old house, the pipes tended to squeal and rattle.

  The steaks on the grill, he went down the hall toward the bathroom. The door was open and there she sat, fully clothed still, on the closed toilet lid, flipping through that book of hers. What the hell kind of book was it? The cover was white leather, with absolutely no writing on it.

  "Something wrong?" he asked.

  She glanced up at him. "A room containing a bathtub or shower and usually a sink or toilet." She glanced around, then pointed at the tub. "Bathtub." She pointed at the sink. "Sink." She stood up and pointed at the commode. "Toilet."

  Oh, man, the heat had really fried her brain. "Yes," he answered slowly.

  "You defecate and urinate in the toilet." She pushed the leaver to flush it. "I figured that one out." Then she turned to the sink, but simply shook her head. "I don't understand this or the bathtub."

  "Did you live on the moon?" Ty went to the sink and turned the knobs. "Cold. Hot." He pointed to each. The tub is the same. Exasperated, he shook his head. "Are you okay? Are you sure you don't need to go see Doc?"

  "Doctor, for helping heal the sick. I'm not sick." She looked up at him with those bright green eyes, frowned, then touched her stomach. "I don't think I am."

  Trent squeezed his eyes shut. He was in way over his head with this one. She couldn't turn on a sink, how was she supposed to clean the house? She had to go. There was no doubt about it now. He'd let her stay the night, then in the morning he'd call Trent to come get her.

  "I smell something." Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed.

  "Damn it!" He ran from the room, down the hall to the back porch. Smoke poured from the grill when he lifted the lid. "Ah, hell." He used the barbeque fork to turn the slabs of meat. One side was burned crispy black. He hated well-done meat.

  An hour later, as he sat at the kitchen table, Ty wondered if she'd drowned. The water had turned off nearly thirty minutes ago. He wouldn't put it past her.

  What was her story? Why would she answer an ad she couldn't fill? Then again, she didn't seem to be too bright. She probably didn't have a clue what a ranch hand was.

  Reaching behind him to the counter, he grabbed the phone and dialed Trent's number. He'd have Trent come out tonight and get her. He couldn't have her in the house. Besides the fact she was missing a few screws, she was just…too damn pretty. He hadn't been around a woman in over three years. Being in close quarters with one, especially one that looked at him with bright green eyes and had a smile that could melt the oldest glacier, was not a good thing at all.

  "God
frey," Trent answered the phone.

  "Hey, it's Ty. About this woman…"

  Trent cleared his throat. "What about her?"

  "She's…" Not all there. She couldn't even turn on the tap. She acted as if she'd never flushed a toilet before. "She's pretty amazing." It was happening again.

  "Really? That's kind of what Stephen said about the sister."

  Ty struggled to form the words. Please come get her. I can't have her here. I'm worried about my control, though he hated to admit it. She turned him on. Big time. Her virtue was at stake with him. He chuckled. She had to be around thirty. Thirty-year-old women didn't have virtue, did they?

  "You okay, Ty? You're sounding a little funny."

  Come get her, please! "Yeah, everything's great. She's a real sweetheart." Oh, great, he'd never called a woman that to another man in his whole life. But come to think of it, she was kind of sweet, in a really flaky, can't-take-care-of-herself kind of way. She probably needed someone to take care of her. Whoa! No way. No thank you. I can barely take care of myself, I'm not taking on any homeless idiots.

  She's not an idiot, though. She can read. What the hell is that book of hers? Maybe she's from some foreign country that didn't have plumbing. But she spoke perfect English.

  "Ty? You still there?"

  "Did the sister say where they're from?"

  "Some small island near Iceland. That's what Stephen said she said."

  "Ah, that would explain it. She'd never seen indoor plumbing before." Feeling much better now, Ty bid Trent a goodnight and hung up the phone.

  Iceland. He went into the living room and pulled down the world atlas from the bookshelf. He was right. Iceland was an island in the Atlantic. Okay, that explained a lot. He could forgive the confusion over the bathroom. The book must be some sort of Icelandic translation thing.

  He heard the bathroom door open and he turned toward it. Oh dear God above, he was in trouble. His black terry cloth robe engulfed her diminutive form, but what he could see of her skin was milky white and smooth as a newborn. She'd knotted the belt around her curvaceous middle, but it gaped open at the neck, revealing a great expanse of skin. The top slope of her breasts, all round and gorgeous. And her calves. He'd never seen shapelier, sexier calves in his life.