The Girl with the Golden Gun

“Not till we talk.”

“Damn your hide, girl. Git.” His mouth hurt so badly he could barely speak. He rubbed it before he thought and orange stars flashed in front of his eyes. Damn.

When she didn’t leave or say anything, he bit his lips in frustration. Then quick as a panther he flung his empty long-neck so savagely into the trash can, it burst. Broken glass tinkled to the bottom of the can. His boots made hollow sounds that rang on the oak flooring as he stalked heavily to the front door, which he slammed open wider with enough force to show her she wasn’t welcome.

Shanghai flipped on the outside light and saw her through the screen. She sure as hell looked different with her long red hair flowing like fiery amber about her pretty face and slim shoulders. Despite his injuries, he tensed when he saw that she sucked in a quick breath after looking at his bronzed shoulders and torso. Then she blushed.

She’d changed out of her jeans. Why the hell had she done that? She looked so soft and feminine and sweet. Her beauty caused a hard knot to lodge in the base of his throat. He’d never seen her in a damp, clingy white dress before; never guessed that a tomboy kid like her could have such a good figure. She was still wearing her bright red boots, though, and she was holding a mud-spattered rose.

What happened to the kid with red pigtails he’d felt so easy around?

He ran a hand through his black hair and inhaled a quick, raspy breath.

“Where’d you get that damn-fool dress?”

“Borrowed it from Lizzy.”

“Figures. You should have borrowed some shoes, too.”

“Her feet are longer than mine.”

Since he was bare-chested and black and blue all over, she could probably see every mark her bullying father had inflicted.

He stood up straighter, maybe to intimidate her. “I wasn’t expecting company. I’d better put on my shirt.”

“No. It’s probably soaking or something. You look…good.” She blushed again and lowered her eyes.

“You shouldn’t throw away the presents people give you,” she said, pulling the screen door open.

When she twirled the rose under his nose, he grabbed it and threw it on the floor.

“Girl, don’t you know better than to come looking for me—tonight…after…”

Shanghai notched his chin higher as he remembered regaining consciousness and finding Caesar Kemble standing over him, his hand still clenched into a fist and that awful grin on his face.

“I shouldn’t have gone to your house tonight,” Shanghai said. “And you shouldn’t be here now.”

“Don’t you care that I hate what my daddy did to you?”

“No, I don’t care.”

“Why do you hate me?”

“Well, maybe ’cause your bunch has been stealing from my bunch for umpteen generations. Maybe tonight I want to be alone to sulk and drink and nurse my hatred for all things Kemble—including you.”

“I saw you ride that bull last weekend at the Kingsville Rodeo. You were great.”

He inhaled a couple of long, embarrassing breaths while she stared at his chest, and he tried not to stare at hers.

“You’re very young,” he muttered.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Plenty. Don’t you know nothin’? You’re not a kid anymore.”

“I didn’t think you’d ever notice.”

“Go home.”

“No.”

“I’m twenty-four.”

“So?”

“I’ve already got a girl.”

“Wendy! I know.”

“So go chase boys your own age.”

Some of the sparkle went out of her eyes. Still, she was a vision in that white dress. He couldn’t very well throw her off his porch into the rain. Not when he didn’t trust himself to touch her.

Still, the last thing Shanghai needed tonight was a sassy virgin from the Kemble bunch to tempt him even further down the road that led to hell.

“Can I come in or not?” she whispered again.

“No!”

She laughed as she pulled the screen door open and sashayed past him.

“Are you out of your mind? How many times have I warned you to stay the hell away from me, girl?”

She pretended to count her fingers and then stopped. “Way too many.” She went to his cooler, opened it and grabbed a beer. Then she popped the top off using the edge of his table. She would have taken a long swig of the stuff if he hadn’t grabbed it from her and taken a healthy pull himself.

“You’re not exactly the obedient type, are you?” He watched her as he took another long pull.

“Are you?”

That stopped him cold.

“I was worried sick about you,” she said. “I had to come.”

Her big, golden, long-lashed eyes met his. Again he noted the raindrops glistening like diamonds in her red hair. Most of all he fixated on that single sparkle that clung to the tip of her cute, upturned nose. She was wearing lipstick and eyeliner for a change.

“If you’re looking to get yourself seduced, little girl, follow cowboys like me home and then throw yourself at them.”

“You’re not like that, and we both know it. You’re nice.”