Page 35 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

“Make it the last time,” Graham said firmly, his voice low and unwavering.

They tipped their hats once more, and Graham watched them ride off into the night, their figures slowly fading from view. With a heavy sigh, he turned back toward the house, his heart still pounding with adrenaline. It wasn’t over. Not yet.

???

The bedroom was full. Not just of bodies, but of the heavy atmosphere that came with a life teetering between life and death. Liam lay in their bed, looking so small under the blankets, his head carefully bandaged and stitched. His breaths were steady but slow, each one a reminder of how close he'd come to losing everything. The doctor sat on one side of the bed, her eyes constantly flicking between Liam’s condition and the small things she needed to monitor. Her focus was unwavering, but Graham could see the fatigue in her posture. Ronan, on the other side of the bed, was a contrast in his tenderness. His large hands held Liam’s smaller ones, his thumb gently stroking over the knuckles. He whispered soft words into Liam's ear, words that Graham didn’t need to understand fully to know they were gentle and full of love. Ronan was a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, and right now, that heart was completely devoted to the man lying in front of him.

But that left Ciarán and himself to figure out where to sleep for the night. The house, which usually felt so spacious, now felt unbearably small, too crowded for the four of them, especially with Liam in such a fragile state.

Ciarán set the teacups back on the shelf, his eyes lingering on the scene before him for a moment, as if he were trying to memorize the moment in case it was all too fleeting. He sighed and turned to Graham. "We can just sleep in here, I suppose. The stove is still warm, after all."

Graham shook his head, his heart heavy. “I don’t want you sleeping on the ground,” he said, voice low. The very thought of his husband curled up on the floor, vulnerable and exposed, unsettled him to his core. Never. "We could—we could sleep in the hayloft."

Ciarán gave him a small, soft smile, one that made Graham’s chest ache with affection. "We?"

"It won’t be very comfortable with both of us up there," Graham admitted, "but it'll be better than sleeping on the floor."

Ciarán’s smile widened, and then, without a second thought, he wrapped his arms around Graham, pulling him into a tight hug. “So long as I’m with you, Graham, I’ll be just fine,” he whispered, his voice thick with warmth.

Graham held him for a long moment, his heart full, yet heavy with everything they had faced tonight. Then they said their goodnights to Ronan and the doctor, who had nodded gratefully at Graham before turning back to her work. The two men made their way out of the house, Ciarán’s hand never leaving his, a silent comfort as they walked through the cool night air toward the barn.

The livestock were all asleep, peaceful and unaware of the storm that had raged just outside. The cows and horses were nestled in their stalls, calm, their steady breathing filling the air with a rhythm that was almost soothing. Graham went to the hayloft and hauled their pillows and blanket up with a grunt. He settled them as best as he could, making a small nest for them to sleep in, then helped Ciarán up the ladder, making sure he was steady before letting him climb on his own.

It was snug up there in the loft, the small space filled with hay and the lingering scent of the animals below. But despite the discomfort of it, Ciarán didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to find peace in the smallness of the space, as though the closeness brought a sense of security. Graham, too, foundhimself relaxing just a little, the weight of the evening finally starting to fall from his shoulders as he pulled Ciarán close.

Ciarán nestled into his side, his voice quiet in the dim light of the barn. “What do we do tomorrow?”

Graham shifted slightly, pulling Ciarán a little closer. “Liam’s in no condition to be moved, and the doctor will still be here tomorrow. Do you think you can take care of the chores by yourself in the morning?” He hesitated. “I don’t want Ronan to be alone right now, and he’ll need help at their ranch in the meantime. A rancher’s work never ends.” It was a stark reality that neither of them could afford to ignore, no matter what had happened tonight. Just because Liam had been hurt didn’t mean the rest of the world stopped turning. The fields needed tending, the animals needed care, and the crops needed attention.

Ciarán nodded without hesitation, the quiet strength in his voice unwavering. “I can, Graham. I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to worry. I promise.”

But Graham couldn’t help it. He would always worry. He’d worried about Ciarán from the first moment they met, wondering if he was happy, if he was safe. He’d worried about the days they spent apart, and now he worried about the possibility of another thief, another attack. He had never been taught that marriage meant constantly worrying about the other person’s safety, about whether they'd be there when you returned, or whether they'd come home at all.

"I’ll be back in the evening," Graham murmured, more to himself than to Ciarán. "And I’ll have a dog."

Ciarán chuckled softly, his breath warm against Graham’s chest. “A dog?”

“Definitely. A good one. A watchful one,” Graham said, trying to sound lighter than he felt. “There’ll be no more thieves on our land. Not while I’m here.”

Ciarán’s arms tightened around him, and for a moment, they just lay there in the hayloft, listening to the distant calls of the night animals and the steady, comforting rhythm of the animals below. The world outside might have been chaotic and unpredictable, but here, in the stillness of the barn with Ciarán in his arms, Graham felt the first real peace he’d had all night.

“We’ll be okay, Graham,” Ciarán whispered, as though reading his thoughts.

Graham nodded, but he didn’t say anything. There was no need to. As long as they had each other, they would always find a way through. And for tonight, that was enough.

Chapter Ten

He woke slowly, the faint light of dawn creeping through the slats in the hayloft wall, soft rays of amber casting lines across the rough wooden floor and over the hay-strewn bedding. The morning air was cool, and the warmth of Ciarán’s body beside him only made the chill more pronounced. A dull throb in his bad leg jarred him from the stillness of sleep, and he cursed under his breath.

"Christ," Graham muttered, blinking against the light and shifting, trying not to wake Ciarán. The muscle in his leg was stiff, and the scar tissue from the old bullet wound pulled painfully as he flexed his foot. He winced and attempted to stretch it out without disturbing his husband, but that proved difficult. His movements were more jerky than he intended, and his discomfort was sharp, crawling up his spine.

Beside him, Ciarán stirred with a deep, rumbling yawn. Bits of straw tangled in his dark curls, and he blinked sleepily, his face soft and unguarded in the half-light of the morning. "Oof," Ciarán murmured, rubbing his eyes. "I’m a little stiff. Did you sleep well, Graham?"

"Always, next to you," Graham replied, his voice thick with the remnants of sleep. He tried to smile, but the effort was cut short by the sharp pain that lanced through his leg. His words came out strained. "Just a little sore, that’s all."

"What’s wrong?" Ciarán asked, his tone instantly full of concern. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, eyes narrowing with worry as he looked at Graham, already sitting on the edge of the makeshift bed.

"Was a bit cramped last night, I guess," Graham replied, trying to downplay it, but it was clear from his pained expression that it wasn’t just discomfort from the position. "My leg’s acting up."

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