Page 1 of Rope Me

CHAPTER 1

PODCAST: BOOTS AND BITCHING

What’s up,Sagebrush Creek? It’s your favorite secret podcaster here with another boots-on-the-ground update. That’s right, I’ve got my ear to the ground and my fingers on the pulse of all your small-town drama. So, pour yourself a sweet tea—or something stronger—and let’s dive in.

First up, Mayor Randolph Bellcourt. Fresh off his reelection victory, and now? All he needs is a shiny new first lady who will actually stay by his side. Rumor has it he’s already on the hunt. Question is, how young will he go this time? Maybe his twenty-something daughter Becca has a friend with big tits and a little ambition. We all know the mayor has a type.

Meanwhile, over at the Kingridge Ranch, the so-called “royal family” of Sagebrush Creek is keeping up appearances—or trying to. Let’s not forget their humble beginnings. Pa Kingridge might run one of the biggest spreads in the county now, but six kids by three different women doesn’t exactly scream blue blood. Makes you wonder if that’s why none of the Kingridge boys have settled down. Maybe they’re protecting their legacy, or maybe they don’t know the first thing about being in a real relationship.

Either way, it’s not for lack of trying on the ladies’ part. The women of Sagebrush Creek have been circling those brothers like vultures over a fallen calf for years. Poor Fallon can’t escape their feeding frenzy, even all the way in Europe.

Will this be the year one of the Kingridge boys finally bites the bullet? Or will they just keep playing cowboy until the cows come home? Guess we’ll have to see who shows up to the Hitchin’ Hearts Hoedown next week. Word is, it’s going to be the event of the season. Boots, spurs, and enough bourbon to drown a horse.

Just remember folks, the barn doors swing wide open, but so do my ears. You couldn’t possibly think that I’d miss this. Rest assured, I’ll be there too, taking notes, sipping my drink, and watching every scandalous move.

And for those of you wondering who I am, well… that’s my little secret. After all, who’d trust me if they knew? Just know I’m here, holding all the cards and spilling all the tea.

Saddle up until next time, darlings. This is your bitch with boots on the ground, signing off.

CHAPTER 2

ALEXANDER

"Jolene! Dolly! Get back here!"

The sharp, high-pitched voice cuts through the stillness of the wheat field, pulling my attention from the tractor. I glance up just in time to see two tiny furballs darting straight toward Thrusty’s pen. They’re so small they look like gerbils, but I suppose they’re supposed to be dogs.

And they’re headed directly for trouble.

Thrusty the goat earned his name for a reason—he’s a predator of the most inappropriate kind.

Behind the furballs, a woman is sprinting, her skin-tight jeans leaving nothing to the imagination. Even from here, her curves demand my attention. With as long as it’s been since I’ve had sex, it’s nearly impossible to tear my eyes away from her tits as they bounce beneath her white shirt. But her second shriek breaks the spell.

I snap my head around just in time to see the gerbils squeeze under the fence into Thrusty’s pen.Damn it.

With a muttered curse, I leap off the tractor.So much for getting anything done this morning.

As I jog toward the chaos, I remember I’m wearing a tie—a damned tie. Our new marketing director, Priya, insisted thiswould make me lookapproachable and professionalfor the VIP guests staying at the ranch’s new suites. She didn’t account for the realities of ranch life, like chasing horny goats in the mud.

The furballs are already in full panic mode, dipping and dodging Thrusty’s harmless advances. But the woman is the bigger concern. She’s halfway tangled in the fence, one boot caught in the wire, her hair spilling down her back in a wild cascade. Her perfectly round ass is directly at my eye level as I approach. I blow out a deep breath. This is going to be more of a challenge than I thought.

"Hold on, I’ve got you,"I call out.

“They jumped out of the car! They never do that!” she cries, her voice catching somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

I can’t tell which it is and it makes me freeze for a split second.Please don’t let it be tears. I can’t handle the sound of a woman crying.She lets out another guttural sound.

“Don’t cry,” I bark, sharper than I mean to. “Do not cry. You’re fine. I’ll get them.”

“Ah! He’s humping them!” She points toward the pen, flailing and pulling at the wire. Every move she makes tightens the fence’s grip on her leg.

I glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, Thrusty’s at it again, but not with her dogs. “He’s humping the bed we threw in there for him.”

“Are you sure?” There’s a calming familiarity to her voice, but I brush it away.

“Yes.”

The furballs choose that moment to trot out of the pen, looking thoroughly unbothered. I swing the gate open and bark, “Y’all get! Back in the car.”

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