"I think I'm really hungry," she said in that whisper-soft voice. "My stomach feels a little strange."
"Right." He shoved the atlas onto the shelf. Here he was ogling her and she was probably starving to death. "Food's ready. I'll just reheat it in the microwave."
* * * *
Michaela followed Ty Brock into the white room again, and he told her to have a seat. She figured that was like taking a bath, she wasn't supposed to take it, just use it. The bath had felt glorious. The cool water had chilled her skin, removing the hot stickiness she'd felt since her arrival. There'd been a green bottle on the edge of the tub, and she'd followed the directions on it. She'd lathered it in her hair and it had foamed and trickled onto her skin. It kind of smelled like Ty Brock. But he had other smells too, ones she couldn't identify yet. She rinsed it out and repeated the process, just like the bottle said to, but she decided to stop at two times or she'd have been in there all night.
Ty Brock set a small platter of stuff in front of her, and one on the other side of the table. Steam rose from it, and the scent made her stomach rumble even louder. Her mouth watered. She'd read about this…something about saliva preparing your mouth for food.
He went to the white rectangle and pulled out a clear…vase? of something brown. Then he poured it into two smaller vases and set one in front of her. There were silver implements next to the plate. She had no idea what to do with them. On her plate was a black thing and a brown thing. She reached out and touched the brown lump. She jerked back, her finger hurt.
"Careful," Ty Brock said, "it's hot."
He sat down across from her, picked up the implement that looked like a little devil's fork, speared it into the black thing, then picked up the other silver thing that was long and flat, and sawed at the black thing. Then he put the black thing into his mouth using the silver thing and chewed.
He swallowed, then looked up at her. "I thought you were hungry. Sorry about the steak, it got a little too done on the outside."
Michaela picked up the devil's fork and the flat thing and mimicked Ty Brock's motions. It was difficult, but she sawed off a piece of the…he called it steak. It was red inside and her stomach made another weird tug, only this time, she felt her throat try to close. Red juice oozed from where she'd cut it. Blood. She just knew that was blood. She dropped the fork thing and pushed back from the table.
"What is it? What's wrong?" Ty Brock asked as he came to his feet and then knelt next to her chair. He touched her cheek again, but she stared at the blood oozing over the platter.
"What…" She cleared her throat that felt thick and tight. "What is that?"
Ty Brock glanced at her plate. "Oh, great," he said as he sat back on his heels. "I suppose you're one of those vegetarian people, aren't you?" He came to his feet then plopped down in his chair. His face had changed. His eyes didn't look as warm and nice. She could see the muscle of his jaw working as he glared at her. "This is a cattle farm, lady. I raise cow. I eat cow. If you don't like it, you can just leave."
"Cow?" she wailed. Hot water dripped from her eyes. Tears, she realized absently, as she stared at Ty Brock. "You're eating a cow?" Her stomach twitched again. "But…but how could you?" She looked out the window at the cows silhouetted against the evening sky. They were big and rather odd-looking creatures, but…but they were alive.
* * * *
Ty watched tears course down her cheeks as she stared out at the cattle in the pasture. He was such an ass. He had to remember she wasn't from here. She couldn't even use the bathroom, for Christ's sake. Maybe they didn't eat meat where she was from.
"Please stop crying." His voice was gruff. He cleared his throat. Jeez. Tears from a woman had never made him feel this way before. They cried if you didn't tell them the right words. If you hurt their feelings. If they wanted you to buy them something. He sighed. "Please stop crying," he said again.
She swiped a hand over her eyes. "Why?" she asked. Her voice was soft, gentle. "Why would you eat them?"
"Because they taste good."
She shuddered. "I can't."
"Okay." He picked up her plate, grabbed a clean one from the cupboard, and put her potato on it. "You eat potatoes don't you?"
"From the earth?" she asked. She wiped her still tearing eyes.
"Yes." He set the potato in front of her. "Do you use butter and sour cream? I've heard that some of you…uh, what is you're called? Vegan? Don't eat anything from animals."
She eyed the container of sour cream he held. "There's animal in there?"
Dear Lord, give me patience. "No. It's made out of milk from a cow."
"Milk." She jumped up from the table and disappeared around the corner.
He set the sour cream down and dug into his food. She could eat or not eat, whatever she wanted. He was starving. They had to eat something in Iceland. Probably cabbage. That grows in cold climates, doesn't it?
She came back to the table with that book. "Milk is fine." She smiled at him and damn it, his heart did a weird little flip in his chest. She set the book on the floor next to her chair and picked up the sour cream. She glanced at him, then used her fork to scoop out a huge blop on top of the potato. She jabbed the potato with the fork, then cut a slice off it with the knife. Then—jeez this woman had bad manners—she picked up the slice with her fingers and shoved it into her mouth, her eyes squinching tight as if she couldn't stand the thought of eating it.
Her eyes popped wide open and she moaned. Actually moaned. His body went on alert, the sound just too damn intoxicating. He watched as she slowly chewed. Her tongue peeked out to lick a bit of sour cream from the corner of her lips.
He pushed his chair back and stood up. He couldn't take this. Couldn't. Damned if he didn't want to grab her up and taste her.
She licked her lips again as she cut another slice of potato. She slipped it into her mouth and her eyelids lowered as she savored the food. "Oh my goodness. I never would have guessed," she whispered as she cut another slice.
"Guessed what?" He dumped his plate in the sink, turning his back on her. He was going to kiss her if he wasn't careful. What the hell was it about this woman?
"Guessed that the taste of food would make me feel so good."
He turned around and stared at her. She talked as if she'd never tasted food before. "What did you eat where you come from?"
She carefully cut another slice of the potato. "Not much."
His gaze dropped to her ample breasts. Malnourishment didn't seem to be a problem for her. "Do you want another one?"
She sent him a beautiful smile, her bright green eyes shining. "Oh, yes please."
Chapter Three
Something was wrong with her mortal body.
Her eyelids kept falling. She couldn't seem to keep them open. She'd finished her potatoes—my, they tasted good—and Ty Brock taught her how to wash dishes. That's what he called them. The bubbles made her laugh, or maybe it was more of a giggle as they popped on her skin. Ty Brock looked at her strangely every time she laughed.
As she stood next to him cleaning their dishes, sometimes his shoulder would brush hers. Her tummy tickled every time it happened. And he smelled so good. She wanted to get closer and see if the scent grew stronger if she could just sniff his skin, but every time she moved toward him, he moved away.
She knew that mortals tended to be fickle. They liked some people, disliked others. Perhaps Ty Brock didn't like her.
Now she sat on the couch, as he called it, and looked through an amazing book filled with pictures of animals and machines. The words were confusing. She didn't know who John Deere or Angus Beef were, but she liked the pictures.
Her eyelids kept falling though, and her mind seemed to not work right. She wondered if the potatoes had made her sick.
"You're tired," Ty Brock said. He sat down on a chair next to the couch. "I made up the guest room for you. It's nothing special, but the bed is comfortable."
"Bed," she repeated.
"Bed,"
he said carefully. "You sleep in it."
He'd been doing that for a while now, speaking to her very slowly. Maybe whatever malady was affecting her eyes was making his speech slow.
"Ah, yes, sleep." She'd forgotten about that. Mortals needed to sleep to resupply their energy.
"Come on. I'll show you where the bedroom is."
A room for a bed. Like a room for a bath? Interesting. These mortals were very unimaginative. She laid the book on the small table and followed him down the hall. He touched a button on the wall and a light came on. He'd done that in the place he called the living room, where the couch was. She examined the button. She pressed it down. The light turned off. She smiled.
"I suppose in Iceland they don't have electricity either?"
"Ty Brock, why do you keep saying this thing, Iceland?" She pressed the button up and the light came back on.
"Just call me Ty."
He ran his hand through his hair. He had pretty hair, brown, but with many shades of brown to it. It looked very soft, and she really wanted to touch it to find out if it was like hers. She especially liked his eyes, though. When he smiled and the skin scrunched up next to them, he… Well, that made her tummy tickle too.
"I hate to ask this, but I don't remember your name."
"Michaela." She went to the bed, the only sitting furniture in the room, and sat down. It seemed awfully large. "Not Ty Brock?"
"Just Ty."
His gaze kept roaming around the room. He didn't look at her. He must not like her at all. That made her stomach do another weird thing. It kind of clenched up and hurt a little. She really didn't like this pain thing. Had she done something that made him dislike her? She tried to think over the whole evening, but she was tired, like he said. Maybe it was because of the cows. Could he dislike a person because she didn't want to eat them?
"I'll, uh, throw your clothes in the wash. You don't have any more, do you?"
"No. They didn't give me any."
His gaze zeroed in on her now. His brows did that wrinkle thing again. "Who didn't give you any?"
"Gabriel, Raphael, and Michael."
"You said Gabriel sent you here. Where are these men?" He stepped closer to her, stood over her. The look in his eyes made her heart beat faster.
"They…um…"
His hands closed around her upper arms. His hands felt hot through the fluffy robe. "I want to talk to them. Do you have a phone number for them?"
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Not supposed to tell the mortals where she's from.
"Michaela, please. I want to help you."
She shook her head. "No, I'm here to help you. I don't need help."
"What's your sister's name? Can I at least talk to her?"
Sister. Sister. A relation. Trent Godfrey thought Electra was her sister. She'd heard him tell Ty that. "Electra. She's at the clinic. She's supposed to work for Stephen Webb. He's a doctor. She has to learn about pain."
His brow wrinkled again. She wondered if it was an affliction he couldn't control. She reached up to touch his forehead, but he stepped back, releasing her arms. The loss of his touch made her sad. Not like when she realized he was eating a cow, but inside she felt…bad.
"Okay." He turned toward the door. "Get some sleep. Morning comes early on a ranch." Just past the threshold he turned back. "I take it you don't cook at all."
Since she didn't know what cook meant, she shook her head.
"Do laundry? Run a vacuum cleaner? Mop a floor?"
"No."
"What can you do?" He shoved his hands in his pockets.
"I can learn," she answered earnestly. He couldn't send her away. She knew about jobs and earning her keep. In order to stay with him, she'd have to make herself useful. Gabriel should have shown her what she needed to know before leaving her here. There's a lot of things Gabriel should have told her. She briefly wondered how Electra was handling things. Michaela couldn't imagine Electra bursting into tears over eating cows.
"You can learn. Well, darlin', I sure hope so." He sighed, then turned away and went down the hall.
Michaela turned off the light. She rather liked the dark, having never experienced it before. She sat on the edge of the bed, then slowly laid back. "Oh my goodness, that feels nice."
* * * *
Ty stopped a few steps down the hall at Michaela's soft exclamation. His body tightened and sweat popped out on his forehead. It'd been so damn long since there'd been a woman in his house, in his bed. How was he going to handle having one that looked like her around without touching her? He should have told Trent to put her back in the car and take her back into town. Let her be someone else's problem.
But he'd tried, he thought as he headed toward the bathroom. He'd opened his mouth to tell Trent to take her back, and the wrong words had come out. Protective instincts he hadn't even known existed inside him had come out. She looked at everything as if it were new to her, and deep inside, he was worried that someone would take advantage of her.
Her clothes were scattered around the bathroom. On the towel rack was a lacy pink bra and panties. His heart rate sped a bit more. Her jeans and blouse were on the floor. Socks and boots lay haphazardly against the wall. This was a woman who was going to be his housekeeper? He chuckled. Why did he get the feeling she'd never even cleaned up after herself?
That black bag of hers sat on the counter. After only a moment's hesitation, he opened it. If she wasn't going to tell him anything, he'd have to figure it out on his own, even if going through her belongings made him feel a little queasy. He wasn't a snoop by nature. But in point of fact, if Michaela, who had never said her last name, wouldn't tell him where she was from, he'd have to find out on his own.
The bag was practically empty. He pulled out two pieces of identification. An Arizona driver's license which said her last name was Smith and she was thirty-one years old, and a social security card. He studied the driver's license. The address listed on it was…his. A chill zinged through him, and goose bumps popped out on his arms. That was just too odd to comprehend. She'd said she'd been sent to help him by someone named Gabriel. But why would her residential address on her identification be his?
He dropped the ID back into the bag and pulled out a banded wad of bills. One hundred dollar bills. He thumbed through them. There had to be five grand there.
Feeling tired and even more confused, he put the money back into the bag, gathered up her clothing, and carried everything into the kitchen. He dumped the clothes into the washer, then decided he might as well wash what he was wearing too, and stripped down to his underwear and threw everything in.
Spotting Michaela's white book under the chair at the table, he picked it up and opened it. This was even worse. The writing looked like the hieroglyphics up in the cave at Devil's Peak. Squiggles, lines, pictographs. He didn't know anything about Icelandic language, but he was pretty sure they at least had an alphabet.
Putting the book in the black bag, he left it on the table. He'd have to pin her down for answers. He didn't want someone living in his house that had secrets. Especially if she was a criminal or something. Just getting off probation, the last thing he wanted was to go back to jail for harboring a fugitive. He made a mental note to call Trent again in the morning. Hopefully he'd have heard something about these women.
Stryker scratched at the back door. Ty picked up his boots to take to his room, and then opened the door to let the dog in. Stryker skidded through the door and ran down the hall, right into Michaela's room.
"Stryk, you dumb mutt, come here," Ty said in a loud whisper as he headed down the hall.
"Oh, you're such a good dog," Michaela was saying as he peered into her room.
Stryker was up on the bed snuggled against her. Her arms were around the dog, her head resting on the pillow next to the dog's. "Stryker," he said, a bit more forcefully.
The dog's tail thumped against Michaela's leg, but he didn't bother to even look guilty. Ty never let Stryker up on the furniture.
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Michaela lifted her head and smiled through the darkness. "It's all right, Ty," she whispered. "He can sleep with me, if that's what he wants."
Temper flaring, Ty ground his teeth. The dog didn't belong in bed with her, he did!
Whoa. He wasn't going to sleep with this woman. No way, no how.
"It's okay, isn't it?" she asked, concern in her voice.
What the hell? He shrugged. "You'll smell like dog in the morning."
"Oh, it's okay. I'll just take another bath." She laid her head back to the pillow and snuggled up closer to the dog. "He's such a great dog. I've always wanted one."
Ty leaned against the doorframe. "Oh yeah? How come you didn't have one?"
There was a long pause. "Animals weren't for…um…I wasn't allowed."
Frowning, Ty folded his arms, then looked down at himself. Shit. He was standing here in his underwear having a conversation with a woman who made his nerve endings sizzle. "Goodnight," he said quickly, and headed to bed.
Alone.
He didn't even have his dog.
* * * *
Oh no, oh no, oh no. She'd really done it this time! She lifted yet another white piece of clothing from the laundry basket. How had all of Ty's work clothes turned white? They were blue and red and green and brown when she put them in the washer. Now they were white. All white. She pinned it onto the clothesline. He was going to be so mad. She couldn't do anything right.
She'd been there for four days, and she'd ruined everything she touched. Brushing another tear from her eye, she pulled out a pair of his work jeans. White. They used to be blue. He was going to send her away for sure this time.
He'd been asking dozens of questions these past few days, all questions she couldn't answer. Mostly about this Iceland place she was supposedly from. He said that Electra told the doctor they were from Iceland. She didn't know where Iceland was, and it didn't sound like a place to live, anyway. Ice land. How horrible. She wouldn't want to live on a land of ice. He asked about her book. He said he'd looked at it, wanted to know what language it was in.
Grounded: Michaela Page 3
