The Rancher's Bargain. Joanne Rock

out of town on a romantic getaway with her chosen bachelor, but the Great Bachelor Auction master of ceremonies, James Harris, said he’s grateful for the generous donation that benefits the Pancreatic Cancer Research Foundation. “This is what the event is all about…”

      Closing her eyes, Lydia flipped the phone facedown on the table to stop herself from going over the story a third time.

       Definitely unnecessary crazy.

      She had just gotten back into town after a visit to her mother’s home in Arkansas for Thanksgiving, a trip she’d been guilted into since she hadn’t been home in almost two years. Her mom had used the time to corner Lydia about being in Fiona’s upcoming wedding to a fourth husband, making the holiday a total disaster. Lydia had wanted her sister to make the long drive with her, but Gail had insisted she needed to stay in Royal and personally oversee her fledgling grocery delivery service. An excuse Lydia had accepted, proud of Gail for doing something fiscally responsible for a change.

      Ha! Apparently, Gail just wanted to stay in town to bid on a sexy bachelor during the event at the swanky Texas Cattleman’s Club. Had the word already gotten out around town that Gail didn’t have the money? Lydia scanned the Royal paper for more news but found only stories about the auction’s lone bachelorette, Tessa Noble, and her date with a local rancher. There was no follow-up article about Gail’s date or her outrageous bid.

      Yet.

      Lydia’s stomach knotted. How could Gail do something like that to a charity, for crying out loud? Furthermore, they shared the same last name. How did it look for the Walker women, both trying to start their own business, when they didn’t pay their debts?

      Anger flaring, she flipped her phone screen toward her again and dialed her sister’s number. As the oldest of eight siblings, Lydia was used to high drama in the family. But for most of her life, the main perpetrator had been her mother, a woman who had parlayed her parenting experience into a successful homemaking blog, House Rules. Fiona Walker’s online followers loved her “whimsical” approach to childrearing that Lydia viewed as flighty at best and, at times, downright dangerous. Lydia had hoped Royal, Texas, would be a fresh start for her and Gail once the youngest of their siblings was old enough to fend for himself with their mom.

      But now, with the mortifying news of Gail’s over-the-top bachelor auction bid, Lydia had to admit that her sister hadn’t fallen far from the maternal tree.

      “Lydia!” Her sister squealed her name as she answered her phone. “You’ll never guess where I am!”

      Frustration simmered.

      “I certainly hope you’re at the Pancreatic Cancer Research Foundation explaining how you’re going to magically make one hundred thousand dollars appear,” Lydia snapped, powerless to restrain herself. “Gail, what on earth are you doing?”

      Anxious and irate, she paced around her half-finished kitchen in the house she’d been slowly renovating to one day open an in-home child care business. She nearly tripped on the flooring samples she’d carefully laid out by the sliding glass door leading to the backyard. The toe of her slipper sent Spanish cedar and mahogany samples flying over the ash and buckthorn pieces.

      “I am having a romantic holiday with the man of my dreams,” her sister retorted, her tone shifting from excited to petulant. “Is it too much to ask for you to be happy for me? For once?”

      Lydia covered her eyes with one hand, remembering her mother had said those same words to her—almost verbatim—just last week when Lydia refused to be in her wedding. Now, her head throbbed while the morning sunlight poured in through the back door. “I’m happy that you’re having a good time. But I’m very worried about how you’re going to cover the bid you placed at the bachelor auction. Have you spoken with the cancer foundation?”

      “I’ll bet that’s why my credit card didn’t work yesterday at the spa,” Gail mused. In the background, music that sounded like it came from a mariachi band was growing louder. “I forgot about the payment to the bachelor auction.”

      “What payment?” Lydia pressed, heading back to the kitchen table to clear her plate and cup. “You don’t have the kind of money you bid.”

      She held the phone on her shoulder, pinning it to her cheek while she set the dishes in the sink.

      “And I’ll figure it out after vacation, okay, Ms. Worrywart?” Her sister raised her voice to be heard over the music. “Oh, and just FYI, I’m ignoring calls from anyone I don’t know this week.”

      “Who has been calling you?” Apprehension spiked. “The charity people?”

      “No, the guy who was in charge that night. John? James?” Gail sighed. “Just forget it, okay? Right now, I’ve got to get back to my margarita before the ice melts!”

      “Gail, wait—”

      But her screen already read, “Call Ended.” And she knew her sister well. There wasn’t a chance Gail would answer if she phoned again.

       It is okay to say no to unnecessary crazy.

      The words had helped Lydia survive her teenage years. But right now, the mantra didn’t roll off the tongue so well when she thought about how the local folks who had worked hard to raise money for charity were being misled. The Texas Cattleman’s Club had hosted the event, and their members were a who’s who list of the town’s most influential people. Lydia wanted to put roots down in Royal. She’d already bought the fixer-upper property to start her child care business here. The last thing she needed was a mark against her family name because of Gail’s impulsiveness.

      Maybe she could at least explain the situation to someone before the news surfaced about Gail’s lack of payment.

      Scrolling back to the news piece, she found the name she was looking for. James Harris. The MC of the event must have been the one who’d tried contacting Gail. She’d missed seeing his photo in the margin of the story the first time, too dismayed by her sister’s behavior to see beyond the text of the story. But now, Lydia’s eyes lingered on the image of the man who was also the current president of the Texas Cattleman’s Club.

      Handsome didn’t begin to describe him. The photo showed him in front of the organization’s historic clubhouse building, a fawn-colored Stetson shielding his face from the Texas sun. Tall and well built, he wore a fitted gray jacket that skimmed impressive muscles. Broad where a man should be. Lean in the hips. An angular jaw with a great smile. She couldn’t see his eyes clearly because they were shadowed by the brim of his hat, but his skin was a warm, inviting brown.

      She blinked fast to banish the image from her brain since she could not afford to be sidelined by the man’s potent sex appeal. Lydia was not in the market for romance. Her mother’s active, dramatic love life had given Lydia a front-row seat for the way romance changed people. Fiona had metamorphosed into someone new for each guy she’d dated, heedless of how her whims affected the whole family. Lydia wasn’t looking for even mild flirtation, especially not with someone her sister had bilked out of a small fortune.

      She knew better than to try to fix things that were out of her control, but she could at least extend Mr. Harris the common courtesy of explaining Gail’s situation. And, perhaps, learn possible options for compromise on the bill so she could speak sensibly to her sister upon her return. If she could still salvage some goodwill in the community in spite of Gail’s fake bid, it would be a minor miracle.

      Lydia had an appointment to meet with the contractor who was supposed to work on her kitchen at noon. But right after that, she’d stop by the Texas Cattleman’s Club.

      And hope with all her heart that James Harris was an understanding man.

      “Lydia Walker is here to see you,” the disembodied voice announced through James Harris’s office intercom system.

      He straightened from where he’d been practicing his golf swing in his office at the clubhouse. Although he’d never been much of a golfer,