The Girl with the Golden Gun

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.