The Girl with the Golden Gun. Ann Major

Feeling the need for air, he turned to go.

      “You can’t just walk out,” she cried when he was nearly to the den.

      “I’m hungry,” he muttered, furious at her and at himself.

      “Is that all you’re going to say?”

      “What the hell do you want me to say?”

      “Don’t you want to ask me…something?”

      “No,” he admitted in a glum, dark tone. “Not anymore. At least not tonight, anyway.”

      “Then when?”

      “Don’t chase me, girl.”

      “I—I’m sorry I—I searched your bedroom, Shanghai. I had no right…But, look, Matt told me weeks ago you bought the ring.”

      “He wasn’t supposed to say anything!”

      “I—I was just so curious and excited after he did. Then when you didn’t ask me, I kept wondering if you had another girl maybe in some other city. I started getting scared that maybe you’d given it to her.”

      “I don’t have another girl,” he growled, stung. “You’re my only girl. Hell, if you don’t know that by now, we’re in big trouble.”

      “Wolf said…”

      “Who are you dating—me or Wolf?”

      “He talks to me more than you do.”

      “Then maybe you should marry him. I hear he’s between wives.”

      Her eyes glistened. Her mouth was trembling. She was near tears and it was all his fault. She hadn’t done all that much. He was just ticked. He should take her in his arms and say he was sorry, but his chest felt constricted.

      “I’d better check the steaks,” he said.

      “Don’t you walk out of this room before we’re done.”

      Sometimes Abigail had way too much spirit as far as he was concerned. She had lots of famous clients. He’d thought she was wild at first, but she had a serious, responsible side. Maybe that was why she made demands the girls he met on the road didn’t.

      “I don’t know about you, but I’m done,” he said, stomping down the hall.

      “Then maybe so am I. Who do you think you are? Oh, I know you’re a rich famous rodeo star, you can have your pick of women. But I’m the kind of woman who wants a guy, who wants only her. Maybe that sounds crazy to you.”

      “I don’t think it’s crazy,” he muttered, but he kept on walking.

      “You travel all over the country in your friends’ private planes or your souped-up truck,” she said, running after him. “You think you are hot stuff. Everybody’s always clamoring for your autograph.”

      “Kids.” He turned. “I can’t say no to the kids.” Not when they came up to him with stars in their eyes and were almost too tongue-tied with awe of him to speak. “Big deal. I sign autographs.”

      “Girls chase you, too. You don’t call much or write much when you’re gone.”

      It was a fault of his, staying too busy to keep in touch.

      “I don’t have to. You always call me,” he said.

      “Yes. I do…because I thought you loved me.”

      He’d thought so, too. “Hell.”

      She raced in front of him, blocking the glass door.

      “I’ve got a career, too. My daddy says I should marry a lawyer or a doctor…instead of some rodeo character.”

      “Then why don’t you?”

      “Maybe I will. Two handsome guys bought the ranch on the other side of mine. Connor and Leo Storm. Connor’s a cowboy. Leo’s a corporate type. Runs a big ranch in south Texas.”

      “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