Page 23 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

Once back at the ranch, Graham and Ciarán got to work with the horses. Ciarán, already in love with his piebald mare, named her Bó—a name that made him blush when he explained it to Graham. “It means ‘cow’ in Irish,” he said with an embarrassed laugh, but Graham only smiled in appreciation of how endearing Ciarán was.

As the day wore on, Graham got busy with his own tasks, watering the crops, checking on the livestock, and gathering eggs from the chicken coop. Dinner came and went, and afterward, he returned to his workshop to work on the bed frame. Thestructure wasn’t overly complicated, but Graham wanted it to be something more than just functional. This was for Ciarán—his husband—and he wanted to give him something worthy of the promise he’d made, to provide for him in every way possible, starting with a marriage bed that wasn’t just a place to sleep, but something to be proud of.

The only trouble was that when it was finally finished, they would have to share it. Together. Graham couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nervousness when he thought about sleeping in the same bed as Ciarán, and the thought of his husband’s nightshirt, soft fabric, and freckled skin made his heart race a little faster than he liked to admit.

That night, as Graham lay on the hayloft, he tried to focus on the work he had ahead of him, hoping it would distract him. But it wasn’t long before he heard Ciarán’s voice calling up to him in the quiet night.

“Graham? Graham, are you awake?”

Instantly alert, Graham sat up, concern flooding his chest. “Ciarán? What is it? What’s wrong?”

The familiar sounds of the cows lowing and the sheep snoring filled the silence, and Graham could hear the rustling of hay as Ciarán shifted his weight. “Um, can I come up?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Graham quickly made his way to the edge of the loft and crouched, keeping an eye out for any missteps from his husband. When Ciarán’s curly head appeared over the edge, he stopped, a bundle tucked under his arm.

“Here, Graham, could you take this? It’s—it’s for you,” Ciarán said, awkwardly lifting the bundle up and passing it to Graham. It was lighter than he expected and much softer.

Graham took the pillow from him, giving it a confused glance before Ciarán continued. “I made it for you with, um, some of the fabric we got at the wedding, and—and I boughtsome material to stuff it with today at the shops.” He was wearing a new nightgown—a soft cream-colored garment that hung loosely, its hem brushing his ankles. His face was flushed with a bashful sweetness, making Graham’s heart skip a beat.

Graham had to fight himself not to stare. Ciarán looked so lovely, so delicate and peaceful, like something out of a fairytale.

His gaze snapped away from Ciarán and he finally looked down at the pillow. The fabric was soft and inviting, the pattern a series of alternating green and blue triangles forming squares, bordered by a creamy trim. It reminded him of a patchwork quilt, warm and carefully made. The sight of it made something warm stir inside Graham—this was something thoughtful, something his husband had made just for him.

“It’s wonderful,” Graham said, his voice thick with appreciation. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Ciarán’s grin lit up the barn, almost as if he’d just received the highest praise imaginable. “You really like it?”

“I do.” Graham found himself laughing softly, the tension in his chest easing for the first time all day. “It’s perfect.”

Ciarán, obviously pleased with himself, plucked the pillow from Graham’s hands and fluffed it before setting it down on the makeshift bed in the hayloft. “I’m glad you like it,” he said. “Thank you again for taking me into town today.”

“It was no problem. I was glad to.”

Ciarán’s smile faltered just a little, though. “Even so, I know we’re busy here, and we’re just going to go back on Sunday…”

Graham’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Back for what? Did you forget something?”

Ciarán laughed softly, the sound like a light breeze in the still barn, but there was a playful edge to it. “Oh, Graham! You must be so tired! We’re going to church, of course!” His smiledropped just a little when he noticed the look of bewilderment on Graham’s face. “Aren’t we?”

The panic that rose in Graham’s chest was almost suffocating. Church. The last time he’d set foot in one had been at their wedding, and that had barely registered in his memory. The priest’s face had been a blur, the ceremony a distant echo. He couldn’t remember where to sit, or if he needed to say anything, or even if he should pray. But Ciarán wanted to go, and so, Graham would go. He couldn’t refuse.

“Yeah… sorry, I was just—there’s been so much on my mind lately, I nearly forgot about it. Good thing you’re here to remind me.” He gave Ciarán a reassuring smile, hoping it masked the dread settling in his stomach.

Ciarán’s face brightened again, the frown vanishing entirely as he fluffed the pillow one last time. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Graham watched as Ciarán set the pillow down on the hay. He felt a warmth inside—comfort, maybe—but also a slight discomfort at how easily Ciarán had settled in so effortlessly into their life. Graham had never been good at this sort of thing, this domestic life, and sometimes he felt like he was fumbling his way through it.

He tried to ignore the nervous flutter in his chest as he settled back into the hay, the softness of the pillow too inviting. “Are you sure you’re comfortable here?” Ciarán asked, glancing at him with concern. “You could—I wouldn’t mind sharing the bed. Even if it is a little cramped.”

Slept in worse places, Graham thought. His throat tightened at the thought of them sharing a bed, but he didn’t say that. He just smiled, hoping it would hide how he was really feeling. “I’ll be fine.”

A frown tugged at Ciarán’s lips, but he didn’t press it further. “Well, okay,” he murmured. “But, um… if you changeyour mind, just tell me. It wouldn’t bother me at all. We don’t have to wait until you finish building the new bed.”

“That’s kind of you. Thank you.” Graham wanted to reassure him, but the warmth of Ciarán’s smile made his words falter. “And—thank you again for the pillow.”

“Of course, Graham,” Ciarán said, his voice soft and tender. He lingered for a moment, then turned to go, glancing back at him once more. “Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

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