Read Online How to Bake the Perfect Pecan Pie by Gina Henning - Free Book Online

longer in sight, so my best chance of rescue is to keep going. I make a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn and keep my eyes set on the horizon, knowing at some point I will reach my destination.
Or die.
    The ice and rain are loud. Over the patter against the road, I hear the noise of something else. Something with a motor. The sound is an engine accompanied by the crunching of something heavy rolling along. A car is to my left and it’s slowing down. It pulls up next to me.
    I stop.
Could this
be a rescue or something else?
    The window unrolls. “Do you need a ride?” the driver asks.
    This is not the type of situation one would ever want to be in. I’m stranded in the middle of an ice storm with a dead cell phone. Do I get out of the storm, risking my safety, or stay in the storm, risking my safety? These are not the kind of options I would wish on an enemy. Without wasting any time, I vote for risking my safety in the warmth and shelter of a vehicle. I’m freezing and my open wounds are stinging.

Chapter Three
    Sometimes life pelts you with ice, and instead of being defeated you keep on moving in hopes that the road gets better ahead. Maybe today is one of those days for me. Maybe my luck is changing and this driver will be a nice, southern gentleman.
    I stick my head in the window to get a better look before accepting the offer to get out of this icy nightmare. At first glance, I’m surprised. This guy is hot and doesn’t seem like the type of man who would appear on a “Wanted” poster at the post office. My brain isn’t working at its normal speed today. I realize that the driver is none other than Mr. Business from the pecan farm. The guy who wouldn’t share his pecans with me.
    Aargh
. Now I’m in a real crux, because after the pecan store, I don’t want to accept anything from this guy. I really don’t. Well, maybe I would still accept his pecans. Maybe this is my opportunity to get another two ounces. I can’t be two ounces short in the pecan pie. I cannot mess up the pie and I know measurements in baking are crucial. The window is warm. The arid heat from the car is drawing me in. It’s full of promises. Promises of being dry and toasty. Who could resist something so charming?
    I pause for a second. “Um, please.”
    I grasp onto the car’s wet handle and unlatch the door, opening myself up to who knows what. I fall into the seat and shut out the cold. I’m shivering. My legs squish along the leather. I wipe off the water droplets that have fallen from my body and onto the dashboard.
    Our pinkies brush as Mr. Business presses the red arrow buttons up on the console, and warm air blasts my face. I retract my hand and drop it in my lap. A whiff of woodsy scented cologne blows in my direction, with notes of mint, sandalwood, and…what is that, apples? It’s so crisp and clean. I inhale, but the smell is gone. Somewhat disappointed, I exhale.
    “You can adjust the heat on your seat with these buttons.” He points to the buttons on the dashboard.
    “Thank you.”
    I move the buttons to their highest level and hope to thaw my body. I can’t remember ever being this cold. I try and smooth out my skirt from its wrinkled, scrunched-up state but it’s frozen fabric.
    An iceberg sitting on a charcoal grill best describes my predicament. Except I’m not melting, which is what an iceberg would most likely do on a grill. I hope I don’t have frostbite by the time this day is through. The seat is burning against my skin. I reach forward and turn the heat down a little bit. There, that’s better. Icicles are no longer hanging from lashes. It’s time to break a different type of ice and remedy the awkward silence.
    “I must say, I’m surprised to see you again.” I peek over at him.
    He smiles and doesn’t even take a peek in my direction. If I picked up a stranger, well I wouldn’t but if I did I would be bombarding them with questions.
    I try to smooth out my skirt again. It’s not budging. My