Page 41 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

Once they were out in the sunlight Ciarán noticed his discomfort. He placed his hand on the small of Graham’s back. “Are you all right?”

It was a testament to how far they’d come in their relationship that Graham now felt comfortable enough to tease, “Just an ache. You rode me too hard, sweetheart.”

“Graham!” His husband gasped so demurely and prettily for being the one to suggest they make love out in the open in the first place. Then his big brown eyes were full of worry. “Oh, I’m sorry, Graham. I didn’t think about that.”

“I’m not complaining. I’d have you again in a heartbeat.” He kissed Ciarán’s blushing cheek—soft, and warm.

???

Graham wasn’t Irish himself, but being married to one meant the rest of Larkspur’s Irish population forgave him theminor inconvenience of having French ancestry. Among the tightly knit community, that was as close to acceptance as one could get without a drop of Irish blood. Those who came to lend a hand at Liam and Ronan’s farm quickly realized Graham wasn’t one for long conversations. He wasn’t unfriendly, but words seemed to weigh heavier on him than most. Still, he didn’t mind others talking around him. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it—watching and listening as they shifted seamlessly between English and Irish, their laughter ringing in the air as jokes and jabs flew like sparks from a fire.

Living with Ciarán at home and working with Ronan and the others, Graham had even started picking up bits and pieces of their language. A practical man, he focused on the phrases he heard most often. Dia dhuit for hello, le do thoil for please, and amadán—a term regularly aimed at some of the younger, lazier boys by their crustier, more no-nonsense elders—meant fool. The words came naturally to his ear now, even if his tongue hesitated to follow.

So, on the third day of working at Liam and Ronan’s ranch, when one of Clodagh’s daughters came charging up the road astride her mother’s reliable old mare, Graham immediately understood the urgency in her cry of Tar go tapa!—Come quickly!

The girl’s blonde hair was a tangled halo of windblown strands, and her eyes were wide and bright with emotion. “Ronan! Graham! Ciarán sent me! You have to follow me right now!”

Graham felt his heart leap and falter in the same breath. He dropped his tools, his voice coming out rough and panicked. “What is it? What’s happened? Is it the ranch? The thief?”

But the girl shook her head, her excitement spilling over into every hurried word. “Come on! Liam’s woken up!”

For a moment, Graham stood frozen, the weight of her words striking him like a hammer. But Ronan was already moving, swinging into the saddle of his horse with the speed of someone long accustomed to urgent rides. “A ligean ar dul,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, his hands trembling as he took up the reins.

Graham scrambled onto his own horse, repeating the phrase with all the urgency pounding in his chest. “Let’s go.”

???

Once more, the ranch was plunged into chaos. The usual rhythm of work had ground to an abrupt halt, replaced by a palpable tension that seemed to thicken the very air. Workers who had been diligently tending to their tasks now found themselves clustered near the front door, their faces etched with anxiety and anticipation, each person silently yearning for some shred of news. Even the livestock, normally indifferent to human affairs, seemed unusually restless, their eyes fixed intently on the house as if sensing the turmoil within.

Clodagh’s daughter called out with urgency, her voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd. “Here they are. I brought them.”

The throng of ranch hands and family members parted like the Red Sea, creating a clear path for Graham and Ronan. Both men paused briefly to offer their heartfelt thanks to the girl before making their way up the winding path that led to the main house.

Graham dismounted Ginger, his faithful horse, and approached the front of the house. “Roisin! Here!” he called out, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions brewing inside him. In response, Roisin barked once, his sharp sound echoing across the yard, before trotting back to his side with his tailwagging energetically. Graham knelt down, gently rubbing his head and soothing his ragged ear. “Good boy,” he murmured, giving him a reassuring pat. With a firm snap of his fingers, Roisin took his position once again, guarding the entranceway with renewed vigilance.

Inside the house, the bedroom door remained firmly closed, muffling the sounds of urgent conversation that took place beyond its wooden barrier. Graham could hear the low voices, the tension evident even through the thick walls. He exchanged a glance with Ronan, whose face told a complex story of hope, disbelief, and fear all tangled together. Ronan had removed his hat in a gesture of respect and vulnerability, holding it reverently over his heart.

Graham's large hand formed a tentative fist as he approached the door, the weight of his actions pressing heavily upon him. With a deep breath, he rapped his knuckles softly but firmly against the wood, the sound reverberating slightly in the quiet of the house.

“Liam?” Ronan's voice called out, tinged with both hope and anxiety.

A moment later, a delighted cry responded from within. “Ronan! Come in, my love, let me see you!”

Ronan's eyes lit up with relief and joy as he moved with surprising speed, almost instinctively, to swing himself onto his horse. His eagerness almost made the door seem too slow, but the bedroom door held steadfast. For a brief instant, Ronan stood frozen, staring in awe at his husband, who was now sitting up in bed, an empty teacup and saucer resting in his lap. The sight of Liam, so vulnerable yet radiant with life, filled Ronan with an overwhelming surge of emotion. Without hesitation, he was by Liam's side, showering him with kisses—his hands caressing Liam's face, his jaw, and gently touching his still-bandaged head. “My love, my love,” he whispered repeatedly, each word laden with affection and relief.

The doctor, who had been monitoring Liam’s condition closely, quickly intervened. She swiftly grabbed the teacup and saucer, carefully setting them down on the nightstand to prevent them from falling to the floor. “As I was telling your husband, Ronan—strict bedrest for at least a week. No chores or other arduous activities,” she reminded them, her tone professional yet compassionate.

Liam let out a gruff harrumph, the remnants of his disorientation still evident. “And what shall I do while my mind and body waste away to nothing?” he demanded, the edge in his voice betraying his normally calm demeanor.

Ciarán, who had been standing silently and watching the exchange with a gentle smile, stepped forward to ease the tension. “Oh, don’t worry, Liam. I’ll come and visit and keep you company,” he offered, his voice soothing and steady.

Liam sighed deeply, the weight of his circumstances pressing down on him. “Well, at least I’ll be a better host now that I’m conscious,” he mused, trying to inject some humor into the grim situation. “So, tell me. What happened?”

Graham and Ronan exchanged uncomfortable looks, the air thick with unspoken fears and uncertainties. “You don’t remember anything from that night, Liam?” Ciarán asked, his tone gentle but probing.

Liam placed a reassuring hand on Ronan’s shoulder. “I remember that something had upset the animals, and that I went to check on them. Then—nothing.” He managed a grim smile, lightly touching his bandaged head as if to reassure himself. “A great big nothing cracked my skull open like an egg.” He chuckled softly, immediately wincing at the pain, but the attempt to lighten the mood was evident.

While Ronan fretted over his husband’s condition, Ciarán continued, “Never mind, Liam. They’ll find the culprit. The sheriff and his deputies are looking into it.”

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