Page 1 of Hitch Me

CHAPTER 1

BOOTS AND BITCHING PODCAST

What's shaking,Sagebrush Creek? Your favorite boots-on-the-ground bitch is back with another pour of piping-hot tea. Y’all trust me, this cup is steeped in scandal.

So grab your drink, slip off those dusty boots, and settle in, because the drama around here ages better than a barrel of bourbon.

First up, we’re headed to my favorite destination. I knew them Kingridge boys couldn’t keep quiet for long. But today we’re talking about good old Geoffrey. He might wear the calm, cool, collected crown, but honey, the man couldn't pick a woman if you handed him a lineup and a detailed instruction manual.

Remember when I mentioned that little cheating scandal a while back? I’m not one to gossip. But sugar, this isn’t just a whisper on the wind anymore. It's been confirmed with a capital C. Geoffrey's ex didn't just wander off. She packed up her dignity, her lipstick, and her morals, then walked right into someone else's bed. And stayed there. Oof.

Now I'm not saying the man doesn't deserve love, Lord knows we all do. But maybe he needs to stop dating womenwho list "chaos" and "daddy issues" as their primary love languages.

He’s the only one of two Kingridge brothers left unmarried. Geoffrey and Holden’s bachelor windows are slamming shut faster than the Methodist church doors during a tornado warning. Tick-tock, cowboys. The cowgirls in this town are saddling up to compete for the final spots in the Kingridge dynasty.

Speaking of chaos, Patty June is out and about again. She’s swishing around town like she owns half of it and has a lease on the rest. But a little birdy told me that she's been banned from the library's book club for turning their Jane Austen discussions into her own personal matchmaking service. Girl, this ain’t “Farmer Wants A Wife.”

And let's not even start on what went down at Bingo Night. All I'll say is this… if you hear yelling, smell industrial-strength hairspray, and see someone wielding a dauber like a weapon, it's best to clear the premises immediately. Old large Marge ain’t playing.

Now onto the biggest shocker of all… There’s nothing but radio silence from Mayor Randolph Bellcourt. I know, I know. I gasped too. But it seems ever since his darling daughter and his ex-wife tangled themselves into the Kingridge family tree, our beloved mayor's been oddly... domesticated.

Y’all know I’ve got my ear to the ground. But I tell you, there ain’t nothing to hear. No backdoor deals, no dramatic speeches at town hall meetings, not even a late-night "private consultation” with a questionable constituent.

Maybe it's just the calm before the storm, but I've lived in this town long enough to know one thing… When Randolph Bellcourt goes quiet, something big is brewing.

The rest of y'all can pretend everything's picture-perfect in our little slice of paradise. But let me remind you, I see thecracks in the fresh paint. Lord knows I see the lipstick stains on the starched collars.

You keep living your country life and I’ll keep loving every minute of it. I promise you this, I don’t miss a damn thing. Until next time, stay salty, stay shady, and stay tuned.

This is your favorite bitch with boots on the ground, signing off.

CHAPTER 2

BRYNN ROSE

"Mother,I'm not here collecting content. I'm setting up a relaxing retreat. With goats!" I practically shriek into my phone. My voice ricochets as my boots crunch against the gravel path. Red clay dust kicks up with every step and it swirls around my ankles. It’s like even the ground itself is overwhelmed by her ridiculousness.

But this isn’t anything new. On the other end of the line is small-town celebrity, former pageant queen, full-time tornado, and my endlessly exhausting mother, Brandi Rose. She rattles on about camera crews and the necessity of filming only during golden hour. Apparently, baby goats don't have the right bone structure for harsh midday lighting.

She continues. “And none of them, not a single one, better faint. I’m not having a fainting goat throwing its body around in the back of the segment…”

I groan and rub my temple. "Right, Mom. Soft light, perfect filters, goats bathed in cinematic glow. Got it. I need to go."

Of course, she doesn't stop talking. But as I round the corner of the barn, her voice suddenly sounds a million miles away.

The view hits me like a surprise embrace from the past. The scent of sun-warmed cedar. The long stretches of fencing thatframe the fields. The way the light pools between the trees. It's been a long time since I've been out at King Ridge Ranch. But the memories rush in like I never left.

Growing up in the country was messy and magical. I can't help the soft smile tugging at my lips. But you can't grow up in Sagebrush Creek with the Kingridge brothers without spending at least a few wild nights out here. Most of the time they end up barefoot, a little buzzed, and somehow in the bed of a rusted-out pickup. I’d bet half the county probably lost their virginity under these stars. Not me though, my mother made sure I knew better.

"Are you listening?" Mom's sharp voice slices through my nostalgia.

"Yes," I say, tone clipped. "I have three days. It'll be perfect. I have it handled." I don't wait for her next critique. “Talk soon.” I hang up.

This was supposed to be a small event for my team at Mane Event Hair Salon. A few days of fresh air, cozy cabins, and the kind of snuggly goat photos that get shared to every PTA group chat in town. But now it's morphing into another Brandi Rose Production. There will be coordinated outfits and makeup touch-ups between yoga poses.

Everything will be coordinated and planned down to the minute. The worst part is, it’s not even real press. It’s just the Channel Seven lifestyle segment sandwiched between Patty June’s farm stand bake sale feature and the week's weather report. But Brandi doesn't care. A spotlight is a spotlight. It’s what she lives for.

When she got pregnant with me, Mom’s dreams of being the next Meryl Streep died right on the vine. She gave up everything she ever wanted…Yep, I ruined them before I was even born.But somewhere in the nine months it took her to return to Sagebrush Creek , a new dream was born. If she couldn't be famous, then it would be up to me. No matter that the stage wasnever my calling. The torch wasn't so much passed as shoved into my hands.

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