Page 20 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

As he headed into the store, he turned back one last time to check on Ciarán. His husband was standing a little awkwardly near the bakery, glancing up and down the street as though trying to decide where to go first. Seeing Ciarán there, standing on his own in this new town, Graham’s heart swelled with affection. It wasn’t the same as the lively streets of New York, but it was a start—a quiet corner of the world where Ciarán could begin to carve out his place.

With a final, warm smile, Graham walked into the store, his mind already half on the errands and half on what he hoped would be a lovely afternoon once they were both done.

???

The carpenter, a no-nonsense sort of man with broad shoulders and thick hands, sold him the materials he needed for the bed frame. Dark wood, sturdy but not too dense, the kind that would carve well without splintering too much. Graham could work with it. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, he knew that much. He wasn’t a craftsman by any stretch of the imagination, and the idea of getting too intricate with the carvings felt a bit out of his depth. But he could make it nice. Perhaps some simple designs, nothing too bold—maybe flowers or birds, something soft and peaceful, like the quiet mornings he and Ciarán spent together. Maybe a pattern that could remind him of the way Ciarán’s laughter filled the air. He could sand it smooth, polish it nice, and present it to Ciarán with a quiet sort of pride.

Graham allowed himself a moment to daydream as he paid the carpenter and took the rough-cut pieces. He imagined Ciarán in their room, his husband wearing nothing but a nightshirt, looking over the freshly made bed frame. Ciarán, who would run his fingers over the carvings with that soft, appreciative smile of his, his fingers brushing over the smooth surface, bending over to examine the details as if it were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Graham’s chest tightened with warmth, and he could almost hear Ciarán’s voice, soft with affection.

“You made this for us?”

But before he could picture more of the scene, a voice broke into his thoughts, snapping him out of the daydream with startling clarity.

“What’re you making?”

The shopkeeper’s question caught him completely off guard. Graham blinked and looked up, finding the man leaning casually against the workbench, a toothpick held between his teeth and a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was clear from the look in his eyes that he had noticed the way Graham’s mind had wandered.

“What?” Graham mumbled, hoping his face wasn’t as red as he felt.

“All this,” the shopkeeper repeated, gesturing to the wood stacked in Graham’s cart, “What’re you going to do with it?”

Graham cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks flush even deeper. “Make a bed,” he muttered. The words came out gruff, a little defensive, but he wasn’t about to let the man embarrass him, not after the ridiculous thoughts he’d been entertaining.

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow, still not letting up. “Don’t you got one?”

Graham grunted. “Yeah, just need a new one, is all.”

“Hm.” The shopkeeper took a long look at him, then proceeded to pick his teeth with the toothpick as though Graham had just told him the most interesting thing in the world. “Marriage is treating you well, then.”

The words hit Graham like a bucket of cold water. He blinked, the reality of it all settling back in, and he couldn’t help the embarrassed smile that pulled at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, it’s… it’s going well.”

Trying not to sound too flustered, he grabbed the lumber and hauled it to the cart with an exaggerated grunt, as if the weight of the wood was all that was on his mind.

???

There was a family near town that bred horses—Nathan and Annie Duncan. Nathan had worked on the railroads, and Annie had once been a trail guide for families heading west, a life that had seen her traverse the roughest parts of the country before meeting Nathan in California. After their marriage, they decided to leave the city life behind, bought land in Larkspur, and started raising horses. They were proud of their business and often claimed that theirs were the best horses in the state. Graham couldn’t speak to that. It seemed a little absurd to claim they were the best, especially when they were the only ones he’d ever bought horses from. But he could certainly speak to the quality of their stock, especially Ginger, the mare they had sold him years ago. She had turned out to be everything he’d ever wanted in a horse. A reliable partner. The best horse he’d ever had. And if anyone asked, he’d tell them so.

The horses in the nearby pasture weren’t much interested in Graham or Ginger. They glanced up briefly as they approached, stared curiously, then returned to grazing in the grass as if they saw this sort of thing every day. Which, to be fair, they probably did. People came and went constantly, making their way to the Duncan ranch to buy, sell, or do business of one sort or another.

When Graham knocked on the front door of the Duncan home, he was met with a greeting like no other he’d received in his years of dealing with people.

“Oh, goddamn—Wasn’t I clear enough? How about you fuck right off?”

Taken aback, Graham stood frozen for a moment, but quickly recovered. “I will, soon as I buy a horse off you, Mrs. Duncan.”

There was a beat of silence, then a sudden pause in the words that came next. “That you, Shepherd?”

“Yep. It’s me, ma’am.”

The door swung open with a squeal of old hinges, revealing Annie Duncan standing there, tall, broad-shouldered, and as redheaded as a sunrise, her face framed by a mass of fiery curls. Her skin, sun-darkened and scarred from her days as a trail guide, was tough, but her expression softened almost immediately when she saw who it was.

“Sorry about that,” she said, almost sheepishly. “Thought you might be the Lachapelle kid again.” She shook her head, clearly frustrated. “He was here earlier today, trying to get me to sell him some of my animals. You should’ve heard the price he was offering. Would’ve made you piss your pants laughing.”

Graham grunted, not sure whether to feel more annoyed by the Lachapelles’ persistent business tactics or to find it amusing. “Yeah, he and his father came around a while back, doing the same thing. Wanted my prize cows. Told them to fuck off, too.”

Annie spit on the ground, the sharpness of the action softening her irritation. “They sure do have a talent for courting words like that.” Then, her gaze shifted to Ginger, who stood patiently by Graham’s side. “Anyway, you said you wanted to buy a horse? Something wrong with your mare?”

Graham shook his head. “No, Ginger’s just fine. It’s just that, well, I’ve got myself a new husband, and we might be coming into town more often now. Ginger likes to ride, but she might get a little tired of dragging the cart and both of us around all the time. And it’d be good if we both had a horse to get around the ranch.”

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