The Pioneer Woman by Ree Drummond Read Free Book Online

I’d ever watched that had taken place in a rural setting. Children of the Corn . The children of the corn were lurking out there in the tall grass, I just knew it. Friday the 13th . Sure, it had taken place at a summer camp, but the same thing could happen on a cattle ranch. And The Texas Chain Saw Massacre ? Oh no. I was dead. Leatherface was coming—or even worse, his freaky, emaciated, misanthropic brother.
    I kept driving for a while, then stopped on the side of the road. Shining my brights on the road in front of me, I watched out for Leatherface while dialing Marlboro Man on my car phone. My pulse was rapid out of sheer terror and embarrassment; my face was hot. Lost and helpless on a county road the same night I’d emotionally decompensated in his kitchen—thiswas not exactly the image I was dying to project to this new man in my life. But I had no other option, short of continuing to drive aimlessly down one generic road after another or parking on the side of the road and going to sleep, which really wasn’t an option at all, considering Norman Bates was likely wandering around the area. With Ted Bundy. And Charles Manson. And Grendel.
    Marlboro Man answered, “Hello?” He must have been almost asleep.
    â€œUm…um…hi,” I said, squinting in shame.
    â€œHey there,” he replied.
    â€œThis is Ree,” I said. I just wanted to make sure he knew.
    â€œYeah…I know,” he said.
    â€œUm, funniest thing happened,” I continued, my hands in a death grip on the steering wheel. “Seems I got a little turned around and I’m kinda sorta maybe perhaps a little tiny bit lost.”
    He chuckled. “Where are you?”
    â€œUm, well, that’s just it,” I replied, looking around the utter darkness for any ounce of remaining pride. “I don’t really know.”
    Marlboro Man assumed control, telling me to drive until I found an intersection, then read him the numbers on the small green county road signs, numbers that meant absolutely nothing to me, considering I’d never even heard the term “county road” before, but that would help Marlboro Man pin-point exactly where on earth I was. “Okay, here we go,” I called out. “It says, um…CR 4521.”
    â€œHang tight,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”
    Marlboro Man was right there, in less than five minutes. Once I determined the white pickup pulling beside my car was his and not that of Jason Voorhees, I rolled down my window. Marlboro Man did the same and said, with a huge smile, “Having trouble?” He was enjoying this, in the exact same way he’d enjoyed waking me from a sound sleep when he’d called at seven a few days earlier. I was having no trouble establishing myself as the clueless pansy-ass of our rapidly developing relationship.
    â€œFollow me,” he said. I did. I’ll follow you anywhere, I thought as I drove in the dust trail behind his pickup. Within minutes we were back at the highway and I heaved a sigh of relief that I was going to survive. Humiliated and wanting to get out of his hair, I intended to give him a nice, simple wave and drive away in shame. Instead, I saw Marlboro Man walking toward my car. Staring at his Wranglers, I rolled down my window again so I could hear what he had to say.
    He didn’t say anything at all. He opened my car door, pulled me out of the car, and kissed me as I’d never been kissed before.
    And there we were. Making out wildly at the intersection of a county road and a rural highway, dust particles in the air mixing with the glow of my headlights to create a cattle ranch version of London fog.
    It would have made the perfect cover of a romance novel had it not been for the fact that my car phone, suddenly, began ringing loudly.
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    Y OUR PHONE’S ringing,” Marlboro Man said, his mouth a mere centimeter from mine. I kept my eyes closed and pulled