Grounded: Michaela Read online

  Michaela sighed and set the book on the nightstand, turned off the bedside lamp, and rolled over, wrapping her arm around Stryker.

  How could she convince Ty that he should accept her love? How could she get him to profess to her, as the man had to the woman in the book, that he needed her and wanted her in his life?

  Stryker snored lightly, his front paws jerking spasmodically. Ty said he was dreaming when he did that. Michaela smoothed her hand down the dog's side and whispered soothing words to him. Stryker let out a tiny whine, then lay still.

  At least she understood what sex was now. The book explained all about lust and love, physical and emotional. Just reading about it had made Michaela tingle all over and long for Ty to do those things to her, the things he'd started to do the other day. Kissing and touching. A tingle raced through her, and an ache deep inside her intensified. Oh, how she wanted him to do those things again.

  But for the two days since he'd held her while they sat near the fire pit, he hadn't so much as touched her. She'd worked by his side with the cattle and horses. He told her he admired the way she was able to calm them. He watched her. She could see in his expression that he wanted to kiss her, but every time she stood too close to him, he moved away.

  Closing her eyes, she moved even closer to Stryker's warm body. He was no substitute for Ty, but she enjoyed the dog's loyalty to her, even though Ty seemed a bit upset by it. She smiled. Ty was jealous of a dog. A little giggle slipped out of her. Someday, it would be Ty lying here with her, not the dog, and then everything would be perfect.

  * * * *

  The low rumble of thunder woke Ty around three a.m. Glancing out the bedroom window, he saw the faraway flashes of lightning. He ran a mental check on the animals. The cattle in the fields would be fine, but he should run out to the barn and check to see that the horses all got inside.

  He rolled off the bed, pulled on his jeans, and shoved his feet into his boots. Chances were, the rain wouldn't even reach the ranch. Unegi hadn't seen any rain in close to three months. It would be nice to get a good healthy dousing, for the alfalfa, if nothing else. Rain would save him a couple of days worth of the diesel fuel that ran the irrigation through the field.

  Heading out the front door, he thought he should probably give Michaela a paycheck. She'd been on the ranch over a week, and he hadn't even thought of paying her.

  Ginger and Elmer, his two cow ponies, were in the paddock, along with the two half-wild broncs he'd been trying to break. He glanced up at the sky as the flashes of lightning grew brighter and the thunder became louder. Maybe they would get some rain tonight. He headed toward the barn. He'd throw the back door open so the horses could come in of their own will if they wanted out of the rain.

  They'd never discussed pay, come to think of it. Then he chuckled to himself. With the broken vacuum and the bleached clothes, it would take a few paychecks to replace those items. But he wouldn't try to punish her. These past two days watching her with the animals—he shook his head—she was amazing. Whatever magic she wielded was something to watch. She could walk right up to a scared cow, reach out and touch the animal, and instantly the beast calmed. The only problem he had was with her insistence that the two broncs did not wish to be ridden.

  The biggest surprise, though, was that she claimed to never have ridden a horse, yet he put her up on Ginger and she was a natural. And she works, he thought as he threw open the door between the barn and the paddock. That woman was right there by his side for a solid twelve hours while they rode fence lines, gave the cows their injections, and she even pitched in with repairing a few downed fences. He should keep her out of the house and away from washing machines and vacuums.

  Ginger came trotting over to him and nudged his bare chest with her velvet nose. "Sorry girl, no apples tonight." He scratched her forehead. Ginger wuffled over his chest, then at his jeans pockets, looking for her treat. Then she stopped and looked over his shoulder, as if waiting for Michaela to appear.

  "Sorry, Gin, she's not coming out to play tonight. She's still asleep."

  Ginger blew out a breath and turned away from him, rejoining Elmer at the fence. "Just like Stryker," he mumbled as he headed for the hose on the side of the building to refill the watering trough. "You're all turning your backs on me because you've fallen in love with Michaela."

  With thoughts of loving Michaela in his mind, he nearly tripped over the hose in the dark. Just thinking about her got him hot and hard. The past couple of days working with her and keeping his hands to himself had been torture. He wasn't sure how much longer he could do it. He couldn't have her. There was no way in hell he was going to take her virginity. Yet having her around…

  He dropped the end of the hose into the trough and turned on the spigot set against the side of the barn. Suddenly the wind shifted direction and the temperature dropped. Where it had been pleasantly warm, now a chill raced over him. He turned off the spigot. It was going to rain, no need to fill the trough.

  A blinding flash of lightning lit the sky and was immediately followed by a rolling, crashing round of thunder. The yard lights went out. The first icy drops of rain hit his bare skin as he jumped over the paddock fence and dashed across the wide yard for the front of the house.

  * * * *

  Michaela sat up in the bed, her heart thudding too hard in her chest, a scream trapped in her throat. Bright flashes of light lit the bedroom, followed by a horrible rumbling noise that shook the bed. Stryker jumped from the bed and let out a low woof before he ran from the room.

  The windows rattled and the floor shook as Michaela grabbed her robe and pulled it on. What is happening? She hurried across the hall to Ty's bedroom. The bright white light flashed again and she could see his bed was empty. She ran down the hall to the kitchen and reached for the light switch. Nothing happened. The house was still dark except for the frightening light flashing through the windows. Another sound started, as if rocks were pelting the house. She leaned against the wall, pulled her robe tight around her, and called for Ty.

  No reply. Stryker yipped and barked at the door.

  She wouldn't let Stryker outside. It sounded as if the house was going to be torn apart. The floors shook with each of the rumbling-booming noises. The flashes were coming faster. Michaela's stomach turned over, and she clamped her hand over her mouth. Where was Ty? Tears gathered in her eyes, and she blinked fast to keep them from falling. Had something happened to him?

  "Ty!" she cried as she sank to the floor. Pulling her knees to her chin, she huddled by the wall. Her stomach hurt, and she buried her face against her knees to block out the painfully bright lights coming in through the windows. Sobs tore from her throat. "Ty," she whispered. "What's happened to Ty?"

  * * * *

  The front door crashed open and Ty fought the wind to slam it shut. He laughed as Stryker jumped up on him and yipped like a puppy. "You'd get carried away by that wind, ol' boy." He ruffled the dog's ears.

  Stryker dashed away, then returned, nudged Ty's leg and then ran toward the kitchen again. Ty's heart stuttered. "Michaela!" he called as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, following Stryker. He nearly tripped over her.

  She sat on the floor, her knees drawn up, her arms folded over her head as if she was protecting it.

  "Michaela." He knelt next to her. "Hey, sweetheart." He reached out and touched her shoulder. She jumped and raised her head so fast it thudded against the wall. "Hey."

  "Ty!" She launched herself against him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and sobbed into his shoulder. "You…were…gone…" Convulsing shivers coursed through her, chattering her teeth as if she'd been the one out in the rain. Her hot tears scalded his chilled skin. "The noise…what…is it?"

  "It's just a summer storm, baby." He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. The poor woman was terrified. "I went to open the barn so the horses could come inside."

  "They'll be so scared," she said, pulling away. "I have to go see them."

&n
bsp; He caught her hand just as she tried standing up. "Sweetie, the horses will be fine. You're the only one who's scared right now." He got to his feet, pulled her up, and led her across the hall to the living room. "Come sit with me. We'll watch the lightning from here."

  Michaela tried pulling her hand from his. Her skin was cold, her palms a bit damp. He tugged her along and sat down on the couch facing the big picture window. When she stood like a statue next to the couch, mesmerized by the lighting through the window, he pulled her down on his lap.

  "Everything's fine, Michaela," he promised as he snuggled her close. Her body still shook. Every once in a while a tear slipped from the corner of her eye and tracked down her cheek. "Are you always afraid of storms?"

  She shook her head against his chest, then buried her face against his shoulder. "Never seen one." Her words were muffled against his skin. Her breath was hot, and as a cold drip of water trickled down his spine, he realized he was still drenched.

  "There's no thunderstorms where you're from?" he asked. She shook her head, bumping his chin. He'd heard of places that didn't get many, like way up north. But to be thirty years old and never have experienced one before?

  Another crash of thunder sounded. Michaela whimpered and clung to him so hard she nearly choked him.

  Hell, he loved storms. The power behind them, the beauty.

  "Sweetie," he whispered, a smile on his lips. She felt so good in his arms. And it felt good to be needed. "Babe, turn around and watch. I promise, in here you're safe and warm. It can't hurt you."

  She shook her head again.

  Reaching up, he grasped her hands and slowly brought them down between them. "Turn around," he whispered. "I'm right here. I won't let you go. You've just got to see. It's beautiful."

  After a few long seconds, he felt her heave out a breath, and then she slowly leaned away from him. "That's my girl," he whispered, then placed a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. "You're perfectly safe. It can't hurt you in here."

  "It could hurt me out there?"

  "It's possible. It's usually a good thing to be inside where it's nice and dry instead of standing out there in the middle of it." He grinned.

  "You're wet."

  "It's raining hard."

  "You could have been hurt." Her breath hitched. "Don't get hurt." Another tear trailed down her cheek.

  "Shh. I won't." Leaning forward just a bit, he brushed his lips over hers. "Everything's fine." He couldn't stop himself. These past two days had been pure hell keeping his distance from her. When she leaned into him, he took her mouth as he wanted to, needed to, with fierce possession.

  Her apples and cinnamon taste was like a drug he couldn't get enough of. Like an addiction.

  He broke the kiss, his gut clenching in fear. He couldn't let himself do this. Not now. Not ever.

  She leaned into him, her face upturned, her lips slightly swollen. Her skin so damn pale in the quick flashes of lightning.

  "Michaela." Voice gruff, he swallowed. "Don't."

  "It's okay, Ty," she said in the softest whisper as she pulled one hand from his. Touching his cheek with feather-light caresses, she said, "I'll never hurt you."

  "I'm the one who'll hurt you, Michaela. I will," he said more forcefully when she started to shake her head at him. "I'm no good, babe. I'm not. I hurt everyone I touch. I can't…not you. You're too special."

  Her forehead thumped against his shoulder. "You're stupid."

  Instantly indignant, he speared his hands through her hair and lifted her head. "What do you mean, I'm stupid? You're the stupid one if you think that I'm going to take your virginity and not hurt you. I am no good, Michaela. Get that through your head! All I want from you is sex, that's all I've ever wanted from a woman. You're too good for that. Do you hear me? Do you?"

  Stryker barked and jumped up on the couch, sticking his face between Ty and Michaela's. He curled his lip at Ty, and let out a low grumbly growl.

  "Shit." Ty eased his hands out of Michaela's hair. "I'm sorry."

  She looked at him with an expression of pity in her eyes, as if he hadn't just attacked her and yelled at her. She felt sorry for him.

  Stryker licked Ty's cheek, then jumped off the couch.

  Embarrassed for having lost his temper, he smoothed his fingers down Michaela's cheek. "I'm very sorry." She had no reason to feel pity for him. He was who he was. He couldn't change that. And he sure as hell wouldn't ruin Michaela because he was horny. She deserved so much more. More than he could ever give her. "Stop looking at me like that, Michaela."

  Her tongue peeked out, licking her bottom lip. "Like what?"

  "Like I'm a goddamned bug and you're a scientist. Don't try to figure me out, okay? I can't even figure myself out. You sure won't be able to."

  "Oh," she said as she settled against his chest, turning her head to look out the window, "I've already figured you out, Ty Brock. And soon, you will too."

  * * * *

  "Ty."

  He heard Michaela's voice from somewhere far away. He grabbed his pillow and pulled it over his head, not ready to face her yet. Feeling as though he'd just fallen asleep after sitting with her through the storm, he needed more sleep.

  "Ty. I made you breakfast. And some coffee, too."

  He groaned. Michaela in the kitchen was a dangerous thing. Last time she tried cooking, she'd ruined a cast iron pan. He hadn't known it was possible to ruin cast iron, but she'd succeeded.

  The pungent scent of coffee snaked its way to him, and he inhaled deeply. It did smell delicious. "Come on, Ty, we have to go check the cattle, make sure they made it through the storm all right."

  That got him moving. He threw the pillow off and sat up. He wasn't in his bed. He was still on the couch. His shoulders and neck twinged painfully, reminding him he was too damn old to sleep anywhere but a bed.

  Michaela sat on her knees in front of him holding a steaming mug of coffee. "Thank you," he said in a gruff voice as he took the mug. It was stronger than he preferred, but he gave her an A for effort.

  "Did you sleep all right?" she asked, her tone light, conversational.

  He grunted and rubbed his neck. "What time is it?"

  "Almost eleven." She stood up and left the living room.

  Eleven. Last time he'd checked it'd been about five a.m. and Michaela had fallen asleep in his arms. He'd taken advantage of the situation and lay down with her, holding her close, knowing that was about as close to sleeping with her as he was ever going to get. Nothing had felt so perfect, so right, as having her warm body sprawled over his.

  "Stupid sonofabitch," he grumbled as he drained the coffee mug. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

  Michaela giggled from the hallway. "Breakfast is ready."

  His face flamed with embarrassment that she'd heard him, especially after she'd called him stupid just a few hours earlier.

  As he stood up, he realized his jeans were still damp. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, the soggy material chafing his waist and thighs. He stumbled into the kitchen, still groggy and completely out of sorts, and sank down into his chair.

  "You look horrible," Michaela announced cheerily as she laid a plate in front of him.

  He examined the food and couldn't believe what he saw. A cheesy omelet cooked to perfection, with crisp strips of bacon on the side and perfectly toasted bread slathered with butter.

  "How?" was all he could think to say. Just a few days ago she'd tried to simply fry eggs and…they'd been inedible.

  She laughed and sat down across the table with her toast and jam, looking too damn good for how he felt. "I found a book of cooking on the shelf in the living room this morning. It gives instructions." She poured another cup of coffee for him from the carafe sitting on the table. "You don't like omelets?"

  Slicing off a chunk of the omelet with the edge of his fork, he took a tentative bite. It practically melted in his mouth. "Oh, this is good. Better than Abby's."

  From across the table, Michaela beamed a megawatt smile a
t him. "There's lots of different meals in that book. I can't wait to make them for you. There's this stuff called stew that sounds wonderful, well, except for the meat, but I could eat the vegetables in it."

  "Recipes," he said absently as he took another bite. "They're called recipes, and if I knew you'd be able to do this with a cookbook, I'd have given it to you days ago. Wow, it's good. But how did you make the toast?" She'd drowned the toaster over a week ago.

  "In the oven, the old fashioned way. At least, that's what the book says." She sipped her coffee. "You're sure the food is good?"

  Shutting his eyes to savor the egg and cheese, he nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure."

  * * * *

  Three hours later, Ty slogged into the thigh-deep mud hole to pull out a calf who'd gotten himself stuck. The humidity was high from the rain the night before, and the sun beat down on his shoulders, baking him through his work shirt. Sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eyes, making them sting.

  Michaela stopped at the edge of the mud and watched him. She looked so damn cool and collected. Her hair was pulled up under a straw cowboy hat he'd loaned her, her white shirt still pristine even though she'd been riding through the heat right along with him. She even still smelled good, he'd noticed as he walked past her. Her apple pie scent was teasing him, testing him, making him ache and making him want to throw her down, right on the soggy ground and sink deep inside her. Damn the consequences.

  The calf bawled miserably as he approached. "You see the mama coming, you holler, got it?"

  "Of course," Michaela answered in the cheery tone she'd been using all day. He ground his teeth in annoyance and closed the distance between him and the six-month-old calf, holding out a rope to loop over its neck.