Page 22 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

The younger man stood tall, though he was a head shorter than Jean. But the fire in his eyes, the sheer force of his words, took Graham by surprise. “Oh, you—you cad! How dare you! Maybe you do know everyone in Larkspur—but I’m sorry to have made your acquaintance! My husband’s a skilled rancher and a farmer and a carpenter and he—” Ciarán’s cheeks flushed bright red with anger. “He is certainly not old and washed-up!”

The insult stung, but Graham’s chest swelled with pride at his husband’s words. Jean’s sneer deepened as he hissed, “They might’ve taught you manners before they let you leave the old country!”

Graham saw the flash of hurt in Ciarán’s eyes, but it only made the anger flare hotter in his gut. “You already been told to fuck off once today,” he growled, stepping closer to Jean. “I’m not as polite as everyone else. We cross paths again, and I’ll throw your ass in the dirt.”

Jean’s face twisted in fury, but he glared at the server before turning back to Graham. “Are you just going to let him threaten a customer?” Jean asked, his voice dripping with malice.

The server, who had been quietly stacking plates, glanced up. “You haven’t...ordered anything yet, though,” she said, blinking at him with a mix of confusion and disinterest.

Jean’s anger seemed to boil over, and he stormed off, slamming the door behind him with such force that the hinges rattled.

“Graham?” Ciarán’s voice was soft, hesitant, and when Graham turned toward him, he saw the wide eyes, the hands clasped in front of him nervously. “You...you didn’t mean to—”

“I’m sorry,” Graham interrupted, his own guilt rising. “I didn’t mean to make a scene.”

“Oh, you didn’t, Graham—” Ciarán began, but the server, not missing a beat, chimed in.

“Kind of did.”

Graham flushed, his face burning with embarrassment. He couldn’t believe he’d just let himself get carried away like that. “Sorry,” he mumbled again, this time to everyone in the room. His gaze turned back to Ciarán, and he smiled softly. “Maybe we ought to just head home. I can eat on the way back.”

Ciarán nodded, and with a quick motion, he wrapped the remainder of his meal neatly in his handkerchief. The sandwich half, the cookies, and the apple slices all went into the bag.

Outside, the piebald mare was getting a great deal of Ciarán’s attention, and Graham watched with a smile as themare nuzzled his husband’s hand. Ginger whinnied from her spot nearby, looking mildly insulted, but soon, she, too, received her share of affection.

“She’s yours,” Graham said, his voice quiet but warm.

Ciarán turned toward him, puzzled. “She’s mine?”

“I got her for you today,” Graham said, the words coming easier now. “You needed a horse.”

Ciarán’s face lit up with a wide, surprised smile. “Really? But—I don’t know how to ride a horse, Graham.”

“I’ll teach you,” Graham said, his heart swelling with affection. “You’re a fast learner.”

He hesitated, wanting to say something more, but the words tangled in his throat. Finally, after a moment of silence, he spoke. “Ciarán, I’m sorry. About how I acted in there. It wasn’t proper. I lost my temper.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “That won’t—It won’t happen again. I promise.”

Ciarán bit his lip, his eyes soft. “You found me,” he said, a look of gratitude in his gaze.

“What?” Graham asked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

Ciarán smiled a little, his voice gentle. “Do you remember? That night after the wedding. You said if anyone ever gave me trouble, I should come find you. But today, with that man—I didn’t even have to. You were already there.”

Graham’s heart skipped a beat. The way Ciarán looked at him made him feel something he couldn’t quite put into words. He could feel his face heat up, and the warmth of his blush made him grateful for his beard, which hid most of his expression. He cleared his throat. “You—You handled yourself just fine back there,” he said, trying to downplay it. “What you said. About me—thank you. He’s an...pardon my language—he’s an asshole of the highest order. Don’t pay him any mind.”

Ciarán just smiled. “He’d get a blue ribbon for it, wouldn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah. Steal the show,” Graham said, chuckling despite himself.

With a steadying hand, he helped Ciarán into the cart. He liked the feeling of their fingers intertwining, of holding him steady as he sat down, and then settling in beside him. The closeness, the warmth. Their knees brushed, and Graham couldn’t help but think that, despite everything, things were going just fine.

Ciarán glanced at the wood piled in the back of the cart. “Is all that for the bed? I’m, um, really looking forward to seeing the finished product.”

Graham’s face felt like it might burn through his beard. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll work on that when we get home.”

They settled into comfortable silence as they made their way home. Ciarán began to hum softly, unwrapping the handkerchief and handing Graham the half sandwich he’d saved, then the cookies. The apple slices, however, went to the horses.

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