Page 5 of Buck Me (Kingridge Ranch #5)

BOOTS AND BITCHING POD

Hey y’all! Sagebrush Creek, are you ready for some tea?

It’s your favorite secret podcaster back again with another boots-on-the-ground update. That’s right, as usual, I’ve got my eyes open, my boots on, and my gossip ready. So pour yourself something sweet, something stiff, or both because this is hotter than the devil's backside.

Let’s start at the hair salon. You know the one, Mane Event. It’s where roots get retouched, brows get butchered, and gossip goes to get born.

Word on the shampoo chair is someone’s taken hair dye to a whole new level.

And by new, I mean down there. Let’s just say the curtains don’t match the carpet anymore for a certain stay-at-home someone, and apparently, that’s just the way her working man likes it.

I’m not here to judge your hobbies, darlin’, but maybe save the color experimentation for after church.

Now on to more pressing produce.

The Sow Much Farmers Market is heating up for its seasonal kickoff, and most of us are bringing the fruits of our actual labor.

Keyword… most. Because rumor has it someone’s been stocking up at a big box store, slapping on a hand-painted “homegrown” sign, and passing it off like it sprouted from their backyard.

PSA— If your tomatoes have barcodes, you’re not fooling anyone.

You bought those next to the bulk paper towels.

And now for what y’all really came here for, our weekly (almost daily at this point) trip out to Kingridge Ranch. Them boys really do keep it coming, don’t they?

Hey there, Danner Kingridge. I’ll hand it to you, you didn’t heed a single word of my warning. It didn’t take you long to make headlines, did it?

You roll into town with all your West Coast charm and conservation credentials, and suddenly you’re whispering sweet nothings to Becca Bellcourt. That’s right, folks, the mayor’s daughter. And might I add, the only woman in town who might be more complicated than the Kingridge family tree.

Word is, you two slipped out of the Farm-to-Table Gala together, and let’s just say it wasn’t to admire the herb garden. Bold move, cowboy. Especially considering her daddy’s been trying to carve up your ranch like it’s a Thanksgiving turkey.

She’s all wide-eyed innocence. Starry-eyed over the latest member of our small town royal family. Plus, daddy hates you; that checks out. You’re just her type. But why you would go for such a complicated situationship, I couldn’t figure out.

Who are you, Danner? Inquiring minds need to know, and I’m not one to disappoint. So I did some digging.

It looks like you’ve got an ex-wife in California.

Turns out she had daddy issues, too. But that zip code must have come with a big price tag.

So what happened? Is that what brought you all the way to Texas?

Maybe this is what healing looks like… Or maybe it’s just a slow-motion trainwreck.

You should know by now that we love those around here.

Honey, you’re hardly a Kingridge. I thought you might want to take this slowly. I liked you, Danner, I really did. But you insist on ignoring me, so consider yourself fair game. Whatever it is that you’re taking from Ms. Bellcourt, I’ll see it. I’ll listen for it and I’ll make sure everyone knows.

Stay tuned, folks, there ain’t no way I’m sleeping on the conclusion of this saga. Until next time, this has been your bitch with boots on the ground, signing off. But never signing out.