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boots and bitching podcast
What’s up, Sagebrush Creek? Did you miss me?
This is your favorite podcaster back in the hot seat. My identity may have been revealed, and I admit, it sent me on an absolutely unnecessary hiatus. But honey, I’m back in the saddle… And as it turns out, I’m right on time.
Some of y’all got cocky.
You seem to have forgotten that even though these size sixes were put up on a shelf, I’ve got so many other pairs of boots on the ground watching out for me. The news I’ve had reported back could burn you out faster than a Walmart string light in a Texas thunderstorm.
But don’t worry, I’m not one to gossip. Your secrets are safe with me. Y’all, it’s December. I’m just looking to be home for the holidays like everyone else. So let’s start with the basics.
Our town Christmas tree is up on Main Street, towering over the courthouse like it’s judging our life choices. The mayor’s office strung garland so thick you can barely see the “Re-elect Randolph Bellcourt” plaques underneath it. But I doubt that’s the reason the man will be losing votes. Anyone out back of the feed store past sunset knows exactly what I mean.
Anyway, the holidays have officially found their way to Sagebrush Creek. You know what that means. People are lonely. People are nostalgic. People are horny. And when those three things collide, baby, that’s when things get interesting.
Grab yourself a peppermint schnapps hot chocolate and settle in. Kingridge Ranch has its halls decked, and those walls have ears, sugar. It’s been a while, let me catch you up on our favorite small town ranching royals…
Bowen and Callum got themselves hitched off faster than you can say “shotgun wedding.” Cassidy no-longer-Bellcourt is reinventing herself with more spine than the Grinch’s heart growth chart. Fallon Kingridge dragged his broody ass back from Europe to collect his own happy ending.
Udder Satisfaction Milk Barn has seen just as much tit as its name suggests. And Danner, the unofficial, solar-panel-loving, goat-whispering, yoga-cowboy wild card the universe dropped into the Kingridge gene pool, found himself a permanent spot on the ranch, too.
In the last months, I watched a few people get second chances and heard some long-overdue apologies. None whispered in my direction, but I digress. I watched a certain secret-keeping, playlist-making couple finally drag their past into the light and set it on fire. But somewhere in the middle of all that, something else happened… And that's what we need to chat about today.
I thought we were done, y’all. Honestly. I thought we had collected all the Kingridge offspring like Pokémon. Six original boys. One surprise half-brother. But another Kingridge secret started rumbling under the surface. This one was big enough to have me dust off my microphone.
Because this Christmas… There’s a new Kingridge coming to town.
That’s right, y’all, it’s official! The final letter in the Kingridge alphabet is on the way. Alexander, Bowen, Callum, Danner, Fallon, Geoffrey, and Holden finally have their E sibling. But here’s the plot twist… This time, the Kingridge is a she.
Let’s be honest, it was statistically inevitable. You can’t have Pa Kingridge running around for forty-odd years with a wandering eye, a bottle of whisky, a full head of hair, and a wallet fat enough to keep Sagebrush Creek afloat and not expect at least one surprise daughter to pop out of the woodwork.
This girl ain’t no country bumpkin either. I’ve heard she’s smart. Ruthless in heels, and coming in hot from California, of all places. She’s got a license to practice law and a reputation for dismantling marriages like it’s a competitive sport.
That’s right, sugar.
The newest Kingridge is a divorce attorney.
Let’s pause together and appreciate the sheer poetry of that… The unofficial royal family of small-town romance is about to collide, head-on, with a woman who makes a living betting against happily-ever-afters.
Y’all better grab the popcorn because she’s not coming quietly. From the minute she sets foot in Sagebrush Creek, she will be under a microscope the size of Texas.
Between Priya trying to turn Kingridge Ranch into a family-friendly destination and our mystery sister strutting in with big-city energy and a suitcase full of legal pads, there’s about to be more tension out there than in the elastic on Pa Kingridge’s Christmas boxers.
‘Tis the season for scandal. As far as I’m concerned, Santa’s come early this year, sugar. So ho, ho, ho, darlings, and welcome back to Boots & Bitching Podcast.
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walker
I hate Christmas lights.
Not the idea of them. The idea is fine. Or as Priya put it in the marketing deck she made us all sit through last month, they’remagical, wholesome.Whatever. In practice, they’re a pain in my ass. My fingers ache from twisting cheap plastic clips onto the eaves in the freezing cold.
“They’ve got to be higher, Dad,” Lucy calls to me from down below. One mittened hand shades her eyes as she stares up at me. “It’s supposed to look like the North Pole, not like a sad gas station.”
I snort under my breath and shift my weight on the ladder. The wind whips across the front of the Velvet Spur. It cuts through my flannel like it’s made of tissue paper. Any colder, I’m going to have to break down and put on a snow jacket.
