The Girl with the Golden Gun

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“Go for Connor. He seems more like your type.”

Her eyes that were usually so adoring flashed with resentment. “I don’t want either of them.

“Did you take them a casserole, too?”

She flushed.

“I just wish you’d call me sometimes. Like tonight. Who called who first to set the time for dinner?”

“Who the hell notices stuff like that?”

“I do, Shanghai. My father was too busy saving the world to ever call me. In fact, he never paid any attention to me at all. I—I don’t have a brother…or a sister….” Her voice quivered. “When I marry, I want a strong, loving family…for a change. And a big part of the equation is going to be a strong, loving husband.”

“Hell.”

“Is that all you can say?”

He was getting into trouble with Abigail faster than when he’d caught his boot in the chute three nights ago, and the gate had opened on him before he’d been ready, and that monster, Tilly, had crushed his arm brace.

Love. Sometimes he thought the closest thing he’d ever felt to love was the applause he got after a winning ride. He’d take off his helmet and hurl it toward the sky. Then he’d throw his hands up in the air. There was nothing like the roar of his fans to make him feel big and important.

“Abigail…can’t we just eat….”

Shanghai—

There it was again!

Mia’s voice stopped him cold. He pivoted wildly, his eyes scanning the darkened hall for her ghost.

Her voice kept calling to him, like she was in trouble.

Shanghai!

“Do you hear anything?” he whispered.

She got a funny look on her face. “No.”

“Listen then.”

His gaze focused on the pine paneling. Crazy fool that he was, he felt so powerfully connected to her, he halfway expected to see Mia materialize out of nothing.

But, of course, she didn’t. His stupid, mixed-up brain and heart were playing tricks on him again.

“What’s wrong now, Shanghai?”

“Nothin’.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d felt Mia calling to him. When she was a little girl in trouble, she’d always come running to him. The instant she’d headed his way, he’d known she was coming.

She was dead. He had to get over her.

“Go away,” he whispered, not realizing he’d spoken aloud. “Get the hell out of my life!”

“Go away?” Abigail wailed, sounding truly hurt.

“Not you, honey,” he muttered in utter exasperation as he gazed forlornly down the empty dark hall.

He felt Abby’s arm on his sleeve, shaking him. “Shanghai, are you all right? You’re as white as your shirt. If you weren’t talking to me—then who were you talkin’ to?”

He stared down into Abigail’s inquisitive eyes, hoping they’d ground him.

“I asked you who you thought you were talking to?” she repeated.

“Nobody. Look, Abigail, forget it. I’m sorry I got all bent out of shape. The pace has been a bit much lately. Too many rodeos. Too many motel rooms bunkin’ with Wolf or the guys. Too many Bufferin along with the beers. My arm’s killin’ me. Let’s just forget the ring and this silly quarrel for now. Why don’t we just eat?”

“Who were you thinking of just then when you got that faraway look in your eyes? You do have another girlfriend, don’t you?”

“I was thinking about those damn steaks,” he muttered. “If we don’t get our asses out on that deck, they’re gonna be burnt to crisps.”

She leaned into him and pushed at his chest with both hands, shoving him toward the deck. “Go ahead then. I don’t care about your stupid old steaks! I don’t care about anything, not even you, you big lying lug! And you can flush that engagement ring down the toilet for all I care!”

“What I’d do? You were the one snoopin’.”

“If you loved me, you would have asked me already,” she said. “I wouldn’t have had to snoop.”

“I was going to ask you tonight,” he admitted.

“Then why don’t you?”

“’Cause I’m not in the mood anymore.”

Her face went as white as his. “Well, neither am I.”

“You satisfied now?” he growled.

“Perfectly.” She crossed her arms over her breasts and ran down the hall.

Her quick, strangled sobs cut him to the quick because Abby wasn’t one to cry. He almost ran after her. Then his front door opened and slammed so hard his whole house shook.

He was halfway to the door when he stopped midstride. When her car didn’t start, he knew she was giving him time to chase after her. For some reason that he didn’t understand, his broad shoulders sagged, and he stayed put.

Suddenly Shanghai wished he was in a chute in a rodeo arena, his gloved palm tightly wrapped in a yellow rope, about to nod at the chute boss. He craved the excitement of the arena and the adrenaline-jingling moment when the gate swung open. He craved the fans’ shouts, the clanging bell, and the bull’s plunging jumps and wild snorts. He knew what to do when he was in a life-and-death battle to stay on a bull.

Bull riding was easy compared to women.

When Shanghai rode well, sometimes the bull and he became one. On nights he got it right, nothing else mattered, nothing at all.

After Mia had seduced him and then left him for Cole and then had the baby, Shanghai had told himself he’d gotten lucky again, that he was free, that he had his bull riding, his ranch, his horses and his rough stock. There had been plenty of women on the road to make him forget. Only the more women he’d used to forget her, the emptier he’d felt. Even after he’d met Abby, late at night he’d still feel lonely.

He’d ignored his loneliness and had told himself that when he retired he would marry Abby and be a rough stock contractor. He’d settle down and raise the best rank bulls in the business, the best saddle broncs, too. They’d have lots of kids, too. They’d be happy.

Shanghai… Again he felt powerfully connected to Mia’s ghost.

“Leave me the hell alone!” he yelled.

Mia’s voice cut him like a knife.

For a couple of seconds the house was quiet. Then his cell phone rang.

He picked it up and read Abigail in bright blue letters. It rang two more times. She was out in the car, calling him already. Inhaling a deep breath, he flipped it open.

“Hi, darlin’,” he said softly, feeling sorry for her somehow.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“You’re forgiven,” he whispered but in a tight, unconvincing voice. The fight wasn’t really her fault and he knew it. She always called and apologized.

“Are the steaks all burned up?” she murmured.

“If they are, I’ll take you out.”

“I have a better idea,” she said, her voice honey-soft.

He smiled in spite of himself. He knew exactly what she meant. She thought that if she got him in bed, she’d get him to pop the question.

She deserved better. He didn’t know what to say. Feeling doomed, he opened his front door and stood in the doorway. She came flying out of her car and into his arms.

But as his mouth closed over hers, he heard his name whispering in the pines.

Mia’s voice sounded as small and scared as a frightened little girl’s, and it tugged at him on some soul-deep level. She’d used that same voice when she’d pleaded for him to save Spot.