18. Boots and Bitching Podcast
CHAPTER 18
BOOTS AND BITCHING PODCAST
“Hey, y’all. Wasn’t that a sweet little party over in the library barn at Kingridge? Hope you brought your reading glasses and your drama goggles… because the only thing thicker than the books was the tension.
It’s your favorite voice-disguised podcaster back at it again with another boots-on-the-ground update straight from the dirt roads of Sagebrush Creek. And honey, today’s episode is more tangled than a mess of white string lights after two bourbons.
Now, we’ve been talkin’ babies lately, and let’s just say—Kingridge Ranch is startin’ to look more like a daycare than a cowboy compound. That family tree’s sprouting faster than the zucchini at Findlay Farm. If you ask me, someone needs to start handin’ out condoms with those welcome baskets.
With all these Kingridge boys knockin’ up women left and right, it’s time we knock down the door on what’s really goin’ on.
We’re down to the final bachelors, folks. The last of the unclaimed Kingridge crop: Holden, Geoffrey, and of course—our mystery nut from the West Coast—Danner. And let’s be real, sugar. Those nuts? A little tough to crack.
But if you ask me, the real prize just stepped back onto American soil…
Fallon Kingridge is home.
Yep. He’s the man of the hour. Fresh off a contract overseas and back in town with a new haircut and a heavier wallet. Word on the hay bale is that Fallon may have left more than just cleat marks behind when he skipped town. But what’s the point in digging up a grave again?
If y’all ask me, I’d say let sleeping dogs lie and see what else floats your boat. Because the Farm to Table Dinner Gala & Auction is practically here, and there ain’t a soul in this town that won’t be at The Velvet Spur.
That includes Mayor Randolph, who’ll be sniffin’ around for a photo op and a second plate of brisket… And maybe mapping out a path for his new highway while he’s at it.
And guess who else will be there? Yours truly.
That’s right, sugarplums. You can bet your best pair of boots I’ll be watchin’ it all unfold—quiet as a whisper and sharp as a tack. You can catch me, sweet tea in hand and ready to spill every drop.
Until next time, darlings.