The Pioneer Woman Read Online Free PDF

Puggy’s yelps from inside the house, my mom darted outside, scooped her up, and immediately rushed her to the vet’s office. Within thirty minutes, she called to tell me the news to which I’d already started resigning myself: Puggy Sue, my little package of fawn-colored love, was dead.
    I spent the next several hours in a fetal position, reeling over the sudden death of Puggy. My brother Mike came over as soon as he heard the news and consoled me for over an hour, affectionately stroking my hair and saying, “It’s ok-k-k-kay…you c-c-c-can get another pug,” which only made me cry harder.
    But when my phone rang around midafternoon, I shot out of bed, ordering Mike not to say a word. Then I took a deep breath, shook off my tears, and said, cheerfully, “Hello?”
    It was Marlboro Man, calling to remind me of the complicated directions to his house on the ranch and asking what time I’d be arriving later, as he was growing more impatient by the minute—something, I reflected, that J had never said to me in all the years we’d been together. My stomach fell to the floor and my throat felt tight as I tried to talk to my new man as if nothing was wrong. When I hung up, Mike said, “Wh-wh-wh-who was dat?” I sniffed, wiped my nose, and told him it was a guy.
    â€œWho?” Mike said.
    â€œSome cowboy,” I said. “I’m going to his house tonight.”
    â€œOoooooh, c-c-c-can I come?” He had a devilish grin on his face.
    I told him no, and scram, because I’m getting in the shower. Mike left in a huff.
    As I blow-dried my hair in preparation for my date that night, I tried to take my mind off Puggy Sue by planning my wardrobe for the evening: Anne Klein jeans, charcoal gray ribbed turtleneck, and my signature spiky black boots. Perfect for a night at a cowboy’s house on the ranch. Before putting on my makeup, I scurried to the kitchen and removed two of the spoons I kept in the freezer at all times. I laid them on my eyes to reduce the swelling—a trick I’d learned from a Brooke Shields book in the mid-1980s. I didn’t want to look like someone who’d just spent the day sobbing over a dead family pet.
    I began the hour-long drive to his ranch. Marlboro Man had picked me up and driven me home the night before, but I didn’t have the heart to ask that of him again, and besides, I loved the drive. The slow transition from residential streets to unpaved county roads both calmed me down and excited me, probably because the man I was growing more crazy aboutevery day was at the end of that unpaved county road. I wasn’t sure how long I—or my wimpy tires—could keep this up.
    My Toyota had just crossed the line from my county to his when the jarring ring of my analog car phone sounded. It must be Marlboro Man, I figured, checking on my whereabouts.
    â€œHello?” I picked up, dripping with romantic expectation.
    â€œHi,” said the voice. It was J.
    â€œOh, hi,” I said. I felt my chest fall in disappointment.
    â€œI’m at the airport,” he said.
    Deep breath. Look at the prairie. Could this day get any worse? Exhale. “You’re at the airport?” I asked.
    â€œI told you I was coming,” he said.
    â€œJ, no…seriously…,” I pleaded. This might just do me in. “I told you I didn’t think it was a good idea.”
    â€œAnd I told you I was coming anyway,” he countered.
    I answered as clearly and plainly as I could. “Don’t get on the plane, J. Don’t come. I mean…do you understand what I’m saying? I’m asking you not to come.”
    â€œI’m at your airport,” he said. “I’m already here!”
    I pulled over on the shoulder of the two-lane highway and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger, squinting my eyes and trying with all my might to rewind to the part where I picked up