Page 52 of A Sweet Chat for the Cowboy

Chapter 26

Tucker stared at thephone in his hand.

Something was wrong with him. He felt a little sick. But also awesome. And maybe a little insane. Only a person suffering from insanity would think that they might be floating inches above the bed. Of course, he knew that he wasn’t floating. He was lying in his bed with Sundance pressed up against him—just like always. But itfeltlike he was floating. And this floating was making him feel something like seasick. His brain felt foggy, and the fog was vibrating.

Something wasdefinitelywrong with him.

He stared at the words on a screen.

It was only a fun story about a little girl going fishing. But it had done some serious damage to him.

“Are you still there?” she messaged.

“Yeah, sorry.” He hit send. How was he supposed to explain that her cute little story had sent him reeling?

“Maybe that story isn’t as funny as I think it is.”

“Actually, it was very funny.”And I think it might have made me fall in love with you, he thought.Though I’m not sure because I don’t know what falling in love feels like.

“Your turn, then. What’s your best childhood memory?”

His stomach tied itself into a knot. He never should have asked that question. He should have known she would turn it back on him. He didn’t have any good childhood memories. In fact, he did his best to forget his whole childhood. But he couldn’t tell her that. He didn’t want her to think that he was damaged goods. He wracked his brain, trying to think of something, of anything, that he could share.

But there was nothing.

He took a deep breath. There had to be a way to communicate this without making her think he needed years of therapy.

“I can’t seem to come up with anything,” he typed slowly, hoping to think of something better before it was time to hit send.

That didn’t happen.

He hit send.

“I get it,” she said. “I shouldn’t have gone first. My story is too awesome to follow.”

He chuckled. She was a real jokester, this one. He considered making up a story, but he wasn’t very creative. Nor was he a liar. “Okay, I don’t have a good one, but I’ve got one.”

“I’m on tender hooks.”

And there it was again. He didn’t have the heart to correct her this time either. Not wanting to leave her on those marinated hooks for long, he started typing, “My childhood wasn’t great. My dad was a jerk. My brothers all hated me. I was kind of the black sheep. But one good moment just came back to me.”

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