Page 2 of I Want Crazy (Loco, Texas 3)

The truth was, it wasn’t coming. He had been staring at his laptop for over a week and had one sentence. Whitney Easton hated parties. That was it. That was his grand opening line meant to suck the reader in and hook them beyond measure. He had his outline and knew where he wanted the story to go; he just couldn’t seem to write it. He was officially in a rut.

He hadn’t said that to Elizabeth, though. He’d assured her it would be in on the first of November, three and a half weeks away.

Which led him to now. He had driven across town only to find his favorite bar, the Watering Hole, looking very unwelcoming, and all his stress, anger, and frustration piled into one huge mountain of irritation as he stared at the old cedar building. The irritation started to boil under his skin, making him hot and itchy until he was in a full-on rage. The heavy door was closed, unusual for this time of day, and the parking lot around him was empty. His large hands fisted as he focused on the white sign with red writing that taunted him.

Under new ownership. Closed for renovations. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Of course it was closed today, the one day when he really needed a few cold longnecks and some conversation. The day he needed to listen to other men’s problems so he could forget about his own.

As he glared at the sign, his thoughts fueled the fire of loathing for the unknown person who had just put the cherry on top of his crap-tastic day.

Who the hell had bought the Watering Hole, and worse, what kind of “renovations” were they talking about? The place was a little rough around the edges, but the creaky wood floors and cedar walls were familiar, and the décor screamed “rednecks welcome,” which was exactly how he liked it. He couldn’t imagine anything making the bar any more comfortable, unless they planned on opening up the kitchen again, but why did they have to shut down completely to renovate just that?

Red could hear music playing behind the double doors, so someone had to be in there. Without thinking it through, he climbed the stairs until he stood on the wide front porch. The music sounded like pop or rock instead of the usual country that most of the locals blasted, and his mind flashed through several different possible owners.

All of whom set his teeth on edge.

Before he knew what he wanted to say, he banged on the heavy wood door. “Open up! I want to talk to you!”

The music continued to blare. Out of patience, he hit the door so hard, it shook under his fist. “Hey! I said get your ass out here and give me some answers, asshole!”

Suddenly, it was silent inside, and now that he had their attention, he shouted, “I want to know exactly what you think you’re doing, shutting down the bar without any kind of notice! People have been coming here for thirty years!” No one answered, and he slammed his palm against the door, sweat trailing down the back of his neck at the exertion and his temper, in spite of the cool autumn air. “I am talking to you!”

Then he heard footsteps, the familiar slap of soles on the wood planks revving his temper again. It was probably some sissy from California, here to civilize the locals. He probably planned on cocktail hours and girly drinks.

Well, if that was his game, Red was going to teach him a little something about what flew in a town like Loco. And if the candy-ass thought he was going to get away with ruining a town landmark, he was about to find out wh

at “Don’t Mess with Texas” really meant.

The door opened, and Red gaped as his preconceived notions flew out the window. Standing in front of him was a beautiful, buxom blonde woman wearing a pair of paint-covered overalls and giving him the stink eye with a set of gorgeous green eyes.

She pointed stiffly towards the red and white sign. “We’re closed. Can’t you read?”

Red’s gaze drifted down to where her breasts pushed up above the neckline of her black long-sleeved shirt, especially when her arms crossed beneath them.

“Hey, eyes up here, jackass.”

Red jerked his head up, speechless for a half a second until her accent sank in. “You’re from California?”

“Wow, how’d you guess that one? Was it the way I said jackass?” she asked.

She sure had a smart mouth.

“Or the fact that you have the manners of a rabid wolf,” Red snapped, scowling.

“Me?” Her look clearly said she thought he was out of his mind, and unease settled over him.

“You’re the one who goes around banging on doors and making demands.” When she stepped into him and poked him in the chest with her finger, he almost took a step back. “If you want people to talk to you nicely, maybe you should start off the conversation right.”

Damn, she had a point. This close, he got a really good look at her eyes, which were a pretty mix of green and gold, matching her shiny golden hair trailing out the back of the bandana she had on her head. If his mother had been standing there next to him, she would have slapped him upside the head and lectured him on his behavior.

Taking a different approach, he tapped the brim of his ball cap. “Apologies, ma’am. I am just having a bad day, and I’m sorry for dragging you into it.”

He watched her lips turn up in a half smile. “My, that was charming. I see what people say about Southern drawls.”

Red returned her smile and held his hand out. “Red.”

She surprised him by laughing. “Seriously? Your name is Red.”

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