Page 25 of I Want Crazy (Loco, Texas 3)

Jessie laughed. “We’ve got to paint and go to town, but what time is dinner?”

“We eat late. Eight work for you?”

“Sounds good,” Jessie said, even as Red kept cocking his head toward the truck.

“You have fun,” Rand said.

Jessie grabbed their food from the car and climbed into the truck. “I like her.”

“I figured you would,” Red muttered. “You’re both ornery as hell.”

* * *

They got to the Watering Hole and ate breakfast, which Red had grabbed at the Crazy Critter Café. Ginny had made him up two western-style omelets with bacon, hash browns, and a biscuit. He’d smiled when Jessie almost made it through her whole container. The woman could sure eat.

Jessie sat back and rubbed her tummy with a sigh. “That was delicious.” Her bulky sweatshirt hid her body from view, but he still thought she looked cute with her chopstick bun and face free of makeup.

He stuffed the last piece of biscuit in his mouth and stood up to throw away his container. When he turned around, he almost swallowed his tongue as Jessie drew her black sweatshirt over her head and her black T-shirt underneath road up to reveal a half inch of skin.

The shirt hugged her curves and scooped low to show the tops of her breasts. Combined with the low-riding hip-huggers and the way her hair tumbled down when the sweatshirt caught the chopsticks, the whole scene reminded him of a really good beer ad.

As she put her hair back up, she caught him watching her and asked, “You ready?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat while shrugging out of his jacket. He tossed it across the bar before grabbing a roller. “Want me to start on this side?”

“Sure.”

They separated, and he heard the flick of the CD player being turned on. AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” blasted over the speakers, and he heard Jessie singing along.

“So, you’re a classic rock kind of girl?”

“Yeah. Let me guess, country music?”

“Yeah, but I like classic rock too.”

“I’m not really a country fan. All that sad twangy my-woman-left-me-and-now-all-I-have-is-my-dog-and-beer irritates me.”

He stopped painting and turned toward her. “There are some fantastic country songs that don’t have to do with dogs and beer.”

“Name one.” The challenge was thrown over her shoulder.

He thought about it for a minute. “Rascal Flatts’s ‘Sarah Beth.’”

“How does it go?”

Red blushed and turned back to painting. Suddenly, he started singing over the music. “Sarah Beth, is scared to death…”

He sang all the lyrics and didn’t even realize that at some point, she had turned the music down to listen. When he finished, he heard her sniffling, and looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes widening.

“Are you crying?”

“No, shut up.” Her laughter was wet, and warmth spread through his body at her vulnerability.

Setting the paint roller down, he started to walk over, his arms out. “Come here.”

“No, I’m not crying. Or if I am, it’s because your singing hurt my ears. And who wants to hear about a girl dying of cancer anyways?”

He continued advancing on her, even as she backed up. “Do you listen to Pearl Jam?”

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