Chapter 20: Tucker's Bed and Breakfast
Kitchen
June 12, 20—
9:17 A.M.
Over a breakfast of honey-cinnamon waffles, orange juice, coffee, and mouth-watering sausage links, I told the tender teddy bear everything that had happened the night before at Glock Ranch, sparing no detail.
I couldn’t believe that Tucker didn’t have a boyfriend with his bearishly handsome bald head, scruffy brown cheeks and chin, and fall-into green eyes. He stood at five-ten and weighed in at about 220, wore nothing but flannel and denim, like most cowboys in Stockton County, and spoke softly, which made me think that he was strictly a catcher behind the bedroom door—not that such details really mattered to me, of course. The man couldn’t have been a day over forty-three, and he smiled generously at me during ou
