Grounded: Michaela Page 4

  She couldn't admit to him that she could read any language. That the book Gabriel gave her was written in the Greater Language. Someday, even mortals would use the Greater Language. When all the mortals came together as one, quit their warring and separation, the Greater Language would finally be the Universal language as it was meant to be. Until then, only non-mortals and a select few prophets could read the Greater Language. And until then, only non-mortals were able to read, write and speak every language known to the mortals. But how could she tell that to Ty Brock? She couldn't, not without revealing where she was from. And it wasn't from a land made of ice.

  "What in the hell have you done, woman?"

  Oh no, oh no, oh no! "I'm sorry, Ty." She held up a shirt. It had once been blue and red checkered. Now it was white with only a hint of the original pattern to it. "I don't know what happened. I put them in and they were colors, but they came out all white."

  At his silence, she looked up at him. He stood a few feet away, his hands planted on his lean hips, his brow pulled into a frown. And he stared at her head, not the clothes hanging on the line.

  Oh. "I cut off my hair."

  "Why would you do something like that?" His gaze roamed over her head, his frown growing worse. She really did hate it when he frowned. And he obviously hated what she'd done to her hair.

  "It was always getting in my way."

  "It looks like you used the lawn mower on it."

  Tears stung her eyes. They did that a lot. She tried to blink them back but they came anyway. Ty Brock hated her. He hated everything about her. She couldn't do anything right, and now he hated her hair. "I used the scissors."

  "The kitchen shears?" He looked incensed.

  She nodded.

  "Gawd almighty, woman, you make me nuts." His hands dropped from his hips. He shook his head and moved toward her. "Don't cry."

  It sounded like an order, but for the life of her, she couldn't stop the tears. She tried so hard. This mortal stuff was too difficult. She didn't understand most of it. She wanted to go Home. A sob escaped her lips and she turned away, embarrassed. She'd watched television with Ty in the evenings, and she'd learned that crying was a sign of weakness. And boy, was she weak.

  "Don't cry, Michaela," he said softly. "I'm sorry. It's not that bad."

  "Yes it is," she wailed. "It's horrible. But it was so hot and it stuck up all over the place. You're wrong, though, the lawn looks better than my head."

  Ty's hands closed over her shoulders. She thought about pulling away, but his touch felt so good. His hands were so big and gentle.

  "Hey," he whispered. And then he did the most amazing thing. He turned her around and pulled her against him. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It just surprised me is all."

  His arms were around her, his big hands splayed open on her back. She could pinpoint each individual finger as his touch was forever branded on her. She wished she wasn't wearing a shirt so she could feel them against her skin. Tentatively she settled her cheek against his shoulder. His arms went more fully around her and kind of snuggled her close. He felt so good. So hard, yet not hard.

  His right hand came up and touched her head. His fingers gently pulled through her curls. "Damn, your hair is soft. I'm glad you didn't make it any shorter than this."

  A weird tingly tug went through her as his hot breath fanned against her forehead and his fingers rubbed her scalp. His breath smelled of mint and coffee. His body smelled of the bottle of spicy stuff in the bathroom. But there was more to his scent than the spice from the bottle. It was warmer. Sweeter. It made her feel a little dizzy.

  Slowly, she lifted her hands and placed them on his sides. Oh my goodness. He felt so different than she did. Where she was soft, he was firm. Carefully, hoping he wouldn't notice, she trailed her hands around to his back. Oh my goodness! He was so different. And as her body leaned against his, she felt…strange. Like little fireflies were flitting around inside her, lighting her up here and there. Warming her, tickling her.

  * * * *

  Dangerous ground you're on, Brock, he warned himself. But holy shit, she felt good. And smelled good. He buried his nose in her feather-soft curls and breathed her in. She used his shampoo, but beneath that, she smelled like cinnamon cookies and hot apple pie.

  He was aroused to the point of pain and was so tempted to throw her down on the grass and take her. Take her like he'd never had another woman. Hard and hungry and hot. So damn hot. He wanted to feel her skin against his. Hear her cry out his name in pleasure.

  Her hair looked ridiculous. She'd cropped it off just above her shoulders, and she reminded him of a poodle that needed a trim. He'd loved her long hair, but who the hell cared about hair when her breasts were pressed against his chest and he could feel her hard little nipples.

  When her hands slipped down over his waist and grabbed his ass, though, reality sprang in.

  He'd sworn off women. Gambling, hard liquor, and women. He gave them up three years ago. Even for this sweet piece of femininity, he wasn't willing to fall off the wagon.

  He gripped her shoulders and gently pushed her away. "No."

  Bright green eyes stared up at him. "No?" God help him, she looked… Hell, she looked like a woman who was begging for it. Her eyes were shining, her face flushed, her breasts pressed against her white blouse with every deep breath. And damn it all to hell, she wasn't wearing her bra!

  "No," he reconfirmed, his voice harsh. "Sorry, sweetheart. Nothing against you."

  Her brow wrinkled. "I don't understand."

  "What's there not to understand?" he said as he let go of her and took a couple of steps back. "I don't want you. I don't need a woman in my life. You're nothing but an addiction, just like the gambling. I gave women up. So don't try this again. Keep your hands to yourself." He could see her nipples through the white blouse. They were hard, dark, begging for his lips.

  "You touched me first!"

  His gaze swept up to her face. She was furious. Her eyes blazed and her pretty white teeth were clenched. So were her fists.

  "You grabbed my ass. I was giving you a hug to apologize for making fun of the hatchet job on your hair."

  "Some apology." Her fisted hands went to her hips. Her shirt pulled against her breasts.

  His arousal throbbed even as his temper flared.

  "Hell. You could have taken the truck into Unegi and had someone cut it that knew what they were doing instead of attacking it with kitchen shears."

  "Why do you care about my hair? It's on my head. Do I say anything about your hair?"

  He planted his own fists on his hips. "What's wrong with my hair? Besides, I'm the one that's got to look at you all day."

  "You've been hiding in the barn for three days. You barely look at me at all."

  "That's because I don't want you!"

  Chapter Four

  Gabriel, help me!

  She didn't know what to say or do. He really hated her. He wanted her gone. And she'd just shouted at him. Oh, this was not a good thing. Tears stung her eyes, and she had to bite her bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

  Maybe she should leave. What did it really matter, anyway? Ty seemed fine. She didn't know what she was doing here. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with him, except that she made him mad and ruined all his things. She couldn't blame him for wanting her gone.

  She turned away and picked up the shirt she'd dropped and tried to pin it on the line, but she couldn't see through the tears.

  "What the hell did you do to my jeans?"

  She didn't answer. She didn't know what she'd done to them. They turned white. She put the detergent in the washer, just like he'd showed her, and they came out white. All white. She burst into tears in earnest and dropped the shirt.

  Her nose ran, her eyes watered, and she hiccupped. "I'm sorry," she wailed. "I didn't mean to."

  When she heard him move toward her, she ran.

  "Michaela!"

  She ignore
d him and kept running. Stryker barked and took off after her. The dog tackled her half way through the alfalfa field, and she tumbled to the ground. Pinned to the ground by a huge dog, Michaela wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his coarse fur, and cried. She couldn't believe she could actually feel physical pain because of Ty's dislike of her.

  She didn't want to be mortal anymore. She wanted to go Home.

  "I'm sorry Gabriel. Please let me come Home."

  The only answer was Stryker giving her cheek a big wet lick.

  The tears came even harder. At least Stryker liked her. The dog nuzzled his cold wet nose into her neck and blew out a breath. Michaela hugged him harder. "What should I do?" she asked the dog. "What should I do?"

  * * * *

  "Michaela." Ty didn't know what he was going to find when he walked into the house. He'd made her cry, damn it. But he needed her help now. He'd taken a tumble off the bronc he was trying to tame, and he had a scrape on his lower back from landing against the fence rail. He couldn't reach it to clean it. "Michaela?" he called again as he went down the hall to her room.

  She wasn't in there.

  "Michaela?" He checked the kitchen and his room, the bathroom. The house was utterly still. "Shit."

  Ty grabbed a towel off the rack in the bathroom and tried twisting around to view his back in the mirror. Blood oozed from the open wound, ran down into the band of his jeans. Good thing he wasn't wearing one of the white ones.

  Jeez. He chuckled. She'd bleached an entire load of his work clothes. Could she do nothing right? He pressed the towel against the scratch as best he could. She'd tried vacuuming Stryker's bed, sucked the blanket up into the beater bar, and proceeded to burn out the motor. She'd tried washing the toaster by dumping it in the sink full of water. Thank God she'd unplugged it first. Probably because the cord was too short to reach the sink. And now all his work clothes were snowy white. He burst out laughing.

  Sinking down onto the toilet lid, he wiped his eyes. How long had it been since he laughed this hard? The woman was nuts. And pretty damn wonderful. She never complained. She'd done the best she could, and it was more than obvious she'd never in her life cleaned a thing.

  His smile faded. And he'd repaid her by hurting her. He didn't have to be such an ass. It wasn't her fault he wanted to touch her every time he looked at her. She sure as hell didn't try to entice him. Well, except for grabbing his ass.

  "Damn." Checking his wound again, the bleeding had slowed. He needed to find her. Who knew where she might have gone.

  "Stryker?" he called when he reached the porch. Great, she'd taken his dog, too. The mutt had been sleeping with her every night, following her around like a sweet little puppy all day long. He headed off toward the alfalfa field where she'd run earlier. What was it with that dog? He didn't like anyone. Since Ty found him six months ago, starving to death on the side of the road, Stryker had hated everybody except him. Now he'd forsaken Ty for Michaela. "Real loyal friend," he muttered.

  "Stryk!" he called.

  The dog's head popped up above the two-foot high plants.

  "Come here, boy."

  Stryker disappeared again.

  "Come on, Stryk, we gotta find Michaela. Help me out here."

  The dog came barreling across the field, tapped Ty on the thigh with his nose, and then took off in the direction he'd come.

  Ty's heart plummeted to his stomach. Stryker had done that once before, when one of the cows was in distress while giving birth. It had to mean only one thing. Michaela was hurt.

  * * * *

  "If Michael found out I brought you here, he'd be furious."

  Michaela sighed with relief. Gabriel had saved her. He'd brought her Home. "Oh, thank you. Thank you so much."

  Gabriel shook his head. "I just brought you here while you were sleeping because you were so upset. You have to go back."

  "No. Please." Michaela glanced around. She'd never been here before, but she thought it might be the Holding Chamber. The place souls went right after the mortal body died, before they were processed into Heaven. The diffused white light seemed strange. She'd become accustomed to the bright colors and sharp edges of earth. "Please don't send me back there. I can't help Ty Brock. There's nothing wrong with him. And he hates me."

  Gabriel sat down in one of the waiting room chairs and patted the seat next to him. "He does not hate you, Michaela. He's confused."

  "Confused?" She'd never heard that word before. There were so many words she'd never heard before. She'd tried to learn them all, but there were just so many. It all felt hopeless.

  "Another mortal emotion. He doesn't know what he wants." Gabriel took her hand in his. His skin was cool, not like Ty's touch. Gabriel sighed. "You have to help him. It is your duty to help him."

  "But how?" she practically wailed. "How do I change his emotions?"

  "Quiet and listen, child. We don't have much time." Gabe leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. "Raphael told me of this mortal's problems. He believes his life is not worth living."

  "Suicide?" Michaela asked, her eyes widening. She couldn't let Ty Brock kill himself.

  "No. There are many ways to give up on life without the taking of his own. He has placed himself on that ranch, cut himself off from his friends."

  "But why?"

  "He believes he's hurt too many people, that they don't want him."

  "What did he do?"

  "These are things you should hear from him. It is the mortal way to speak their own problems."

  "He doesn't tell me anything, Gabriel. He just asks a lot of questions. And I'm not supposed to tell him where I'm from. He found the book." She rubbed her fingers across her forehead. "And he does not like me."

  "Yes, he does. You cause him confusion because he does like you, but he's shut his heart to caring for others. He is hurting and confused. You must help him."

  "Then tell me why he's done this. How can I help him if I don't understand him?"

  "He committed sins…er…crimes. He stole. He cheated. He lied."

  "Then why doesn't he ask for forgiveness and be done with it?"

  Gabriel let out a heavy sigh. "Not all mortals feel the same way we do. Forgiveness comes to them in many forms. He needs to forgive himself. The other mortals already have, but he doesn't believe it."

  "So, again, what is it I need to do?"

  "Teach him to trust."

  "How?" Michaela stood up and paced in front of Gabriel. "How do you teach a mortal to trust? Especially when I can't tell him any truths?"

  "Ah, but I've been watching you. I'm very proud of you. You have never lied to him."

  Michaela threw up her hands. "Just answer my question. How do I teach him these things?"

  "That, dear child, is for you to figure out."

  "But—"

  "Time for you to return. He's searching for you."

  Before Michaela could stop him, Gabriel sent her soul back to her mortal body. A sharp pain shot through her middle as she took her first deep breath.

  * * * *

  "Michaela!" Ty knelt next to her still form. Her face was sun burnt, and sweat dotted her brow. "Michaela. Wake up darlin'." His heart beat so hard it was a physical pain in his chest. "Come on, sweetheart." He touched her cheek, and yet there was no response.

  Stryker buried his nose against her neck and whined pitifully.

  Ty felt like doing the same. He visually checked her for injury, running his hand over her limbs, but found nothing out of place. "Come on, baby."

  She gasped and groaned.

  Relief washed through him, and he lifted her onto his lap and hugged her close. "Thank God."

  "Ty?" she said softly as she placed her hand on his bare shoulder and pushed herself away. "Ty, what's wrong?" Her green eyes were clouded with concern, and swollen and red from crying. It nearly tore him apart.

  "I thought…" He pulled her back to his chest and held her tight. He couldn't say what he thought. He couldn't fathom the ide
a of her being hurt or sick.

  "I fell asleep." She wrapped her arms around his neck and settled her cheek against his chest. Her skin nearly scorched his.

  "We've got to get you inside. Your face is burned." He lifted her with him as he stood and headed across the field toward the house. "You shouldn't sleep outside. Your skin is too fair. It's not healthy."

  She didn't answer, but she snuggled even closer, tucking her head under his chin.

  "Why'd you run off like that?" he asked, his temper returning now that he knew she was safe. "That was a stupid thing to do. The temperature is hanging around one hundred. In this heat you can get burned or dehydrated too quickly."

  Still she said nothing.

  "Answer me, damn it." He pushed the door open and took her straight to the bathroom. He set her down on the toilet lid and turned away to draw her a cool bath.

  "Oh no, oh no, oh no."

  He flipped on the water before turning back to her. "What?"

  Tears sparkled in her eyes as she stood up. "Your back," she whispered. "You're hurt." She reached for him.

  He took a step back out of her reach. "It's just a scratch."

  "There's blood."

  "I fell off a horse. I'm fine."

  She took another step toward him. He backed himself into the wall. He did not want her touching him right now. His insides were twisted into a knot. Anger, lust, fear.

  Her fingers touched his side. He sucked in his breath at the butterfly-soft contact. "Don't."

  "You carried me in here, and you're hurt," she said. "Turn around and let me see. Let me help you."

  He would swear he could drown in her eyes. So gentle. So sweet. So damn caring.

  "Trust me," she whispered.