Page 38 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

Graham gave a dry chuckle. He knew all too well the situation with dogs around here. “Yeah, I know. We’re in a bit of a dog desert,” he said, the humor not quite reaching his eyes. He’d asked around before and had come to realize that there wasn’t a single pup to be had. "I was going to go out of town, look around there."

Bridget raised an eyebrow, a skeptical smile tugging at her lips. "You that desperate?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, but Graham didn’t hesitate. "Yes." His response was blunt, and his voice held a layer of honesty that, perhaps, he hadn’t fully acknowledged before. The truth was, it wasn’t just about getting a puppy—it was about having someone, something, to keep Ciarán safe when Graham wasn’t around. A guard dog wasn’t just an extra set of eyes; it was a silent protector for the one person in his life who mattered most.

Bridget looked thoughtful for a moment, then her face brightened. “Well, there’s a stray that wanders around near the church. A mutt. Sweet-tempered enough,” she said, her voice warming as she recalled the dog.

Graham’s ears perked up. "A stray?" That was exactly the kind of dog he needed, one that wasn’t bound by any obligations or expectations but simply wanted a place to call home. “Sweet-tempered enough, you say?” he repeated, already starting to think of how he could find this dog.

She nodded, a slight shrug rolling over her shoulders. “Yeah, but if it’s so sweet-tempered, how come no one’s taken it in?” Graham asked, his curiosity piqued. If the dog was so friendly, why had no one claimed it yet?

Bridget’s expression softened. “Not the prettiest beast in the world. It’s a stray, you know?” she said with a small grimace,as if the dog’s less-than-perfect appearance was somehow a mark against it.

Graham didn’t care about that. He didn’t need a pretty dog. He needed one with heart, with loyalty, and one that would protect Ciarán. Looks weren’t important; the safety of his husband was.

“That sounds like what I need,” Graham said decisively. He gave Bridget a quick nod, already turning to whistling for Ginger. “I’ll try my hand at catching a stray,” he said with a half-smile. He wasn’t sure how easy it would be to find a stray dog, let alone catch one, but there was no harm in trying.

Bridget’s voice followed him, a note of amusement in her words. “Good luck with that, Mr. Shepherd. He’s a tricky one to catch. You might need more than just your charm.”

Graham waved over his shoulder as he made his way to the horses. “I’ll make do,” he called back, a bit of humor in his voice, but determination in his step. After all, if anyone could find a dog that would protect his family, it would be him.

???

Every Sunday, without fail, Graham and Ciarán attended the church service. It had become a part of their routine, one they both valued, even if the rest of the day rarely allowed for much rest. Between the ranch chores and the responsibilities that came with running their small farm, there was little time for relaxation. The service was a moment of peace, a small break from the endless list of tasks that awaited them at home. But it was brief. They didn’t linger long after the service ended. Most Sundays, they exchanged pleasantries with the few people who remained, but then it was back to work.

The last time Graham had wandered the area behind the church had been at his and Ciarán’s wedding reception. Thathad been a day to remember—one of joy and laughter, the kind of celebration that could last a lifetime. The food had been plentiful, the drink flowing, and the music had filled the air. It was the day that marked the beginning of everything. He smiled at the memory, the way Ciarán’s laughter had echoed across the yard, how his husband’s eyes had shone brighter than the sun itself.

They hadn’t danced since that day. It wasn’t for lack of desire; Ciarán had always enjoyed dancing. He’d mentioned it a few times, the way he missed it. Graham had promised himself that the next time there was a shindig in town, he’d ask Ciarán to dance. Maybe he could even ask Mr. Fournier if he’d be willing to teach him to play the violin, just so he could play a song for his husband and watch the joy light up his face as he danced for him again.

But for now, he had his work cut out for him. The ranch was calling, as it always did.

Suddenly, Graham’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud snort from Ginger. He turned to see the horse shifting her weight, her head lowered toward the ground. A dog was cautiously sniffing at her leg, its nose twitching as it investigated her scent. When Ginger lowered her head further to nudge the dog, it jumped back in surprise, its tail wagging in excitement.

"Hey," Graham muttered, amused by the dog’s sudden timidity.

The dog’s ears perked up at the sound of his voice, but when Graham stepped closer, it gave a small bark and darted behind a tree. Graham blinked, surprised by the animal’s cautiousness. He’d half expected it to be more outgoing.

“Well, I guess I found you,” Graham said with a wry smile.

He glanced down at his pack and pulled out one of the oatcakes Ciarán had baked that morning. The smell still lingeredfaintly on the pastry. Graham broke it in half, quickly eating one piece before tossing the other toward the tree where the dog had disappeared. The dog’s nose appeared first, sniffing furiously at the ground before the rest of its head followed. With a small hesitation, it bolted out from behind the tree and leapt forward, snapping up the oatcake with lightning speed, almost as though it had been starving for weeks.

Graham paused to observe the animal. It wasn’t a puppy, but it was still young, the kind of dog that hadn’t quite grown into its large paws yet. Its fur was sparse, and it looked a little too thin for comfort—probably a result of its life as a stray. One of its ears was ragged and torn, the other hanging limply at its side. The dog’s eye was cloudy, a scar around it, but its remaining eye was bright and alert. Despite its rough appearance, there was a spark in the animal, a gleam of hopefulness in its gaze as it licked its chops, tail wagging cautiously.

Graham’s heart tightened in sympathy. He knew what it was like to hope for something, to cling to the smallest glimmer of affection when it seemed as though the world was against you. The dog’s longing was palpable.

Whistling softly, Graham called to the dog, watching as it hesitated for only a moment before bounding toward him with eager steps. “Hey, boy,” he said softly, extending a hand toward the animal.

The dog responded eagerly, pressing its head into Graham’s palm, its body wriggling with delight at the attention. Graham scratched under its chin, his fingers finding the soft fur there. “You’re going to love Ciarán,” he murmured, smiling down at the dog. He could already imagine Ciarán’s delighted reaction when they brought it home. This dog might not be the most well-bred, but Graham had always believed that what mattered most was loyalty. And this dog, with its weatheredexterior and its battered eye, had loyalty written all over it. It was exactly the kind of companion Ciarán deserved.

“Come on,” Graham said, reaching down to tug gently on the dog’s collar, guiding it toward Ginger. “Let’s get you home.”

The dog followed obediently, as if it already trusted Graham, its tail wagging in joyful anticipation.

???

Graham rode Ginger at a canter, the rhythmic thud of hooves pounding in the dirt beneath them, and the dog followed eagerly, his tail wagging furiously and tongue lolling out of his mouth. He barked with pure joy, his paws kicking up dust as he frolicked beside the horse. The dog was hardly a beauty by any standard—his fur was thin and ragged in places, his good eye still a little cloudy—but his temperament was as sweet as Bridget had promised. Every now and then, the dog would dart ahead, tail wagging excitedly, as if to urge Graham to go faster. The two of them—man and beast—formed an unlikely, yet perfectly matched, team. It felt good to see the dog enjoying himself, to see something, someone, full of life in such a simple, carefree way.

As they reached the ranch, Graham slowed Ginger to a trot, and the dog, as if sensing that they were almost home, trotted alongside them, still full of energy but starting to calm down as they approached the familiar place. The ranch was quiet, the sounds of the animals milling about in the pasture a comforting backdrop to the day’s tasks. The barn was just ahead, and Graham saw Ciarán in the yard, corralling the chickens back into their coop, his face contorted in determination as he waved a kitchen towel at the birds, who squawked in protest.

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