Page 42 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

Graham, feeling the tension rise again, tried to mask his discomfort. He attempted to turn his snort into a cough, a futile effort to deflect the seriousness of the situation. “Pardon me,” he said hastily, meeting Ciarán’s stern glare with a sheepish expression.

Liam, noticing Graham’s unease, merely smirked. “Nothing to apologize for. We have the same regard for lawmen, I think. If they’d only taken the horse theft more seriously—isn’t that so, my love?” His eyes met Ronan’s, seeking affirmation.

Ronan gave a long, satisfied sigh, the frustration of the past days momentarily easing.

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They prepared a small cart to transport Liam back to his and Ronan’s ranch. It was a sturdy little vehicle, outfitted with layers of soft pillows and thick blankets. Graham couldn’t help but think it looked more comfortable than any bed he’d ever slept in—like sitting on a cloud made of wool and down. It seemed a fitting throne for someone who had narrowly escaped death.

Liam, however, didn’t share Graham’s admiration for the contraption. Standing stiffly in the yard, he crossed his arms and stared at the cart as if it had personally offended him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ronan. I’ll ride one of the horses—”

Before he could finish, Ronan stepped forward, his eyes flashing. He jabbed a finger at the cart with the force of a command and launched into a torrent of furious Irish. “No. Suífidh tú agus ligfidh tú do scíth. Chaill mé beagnach thú. Má tá grá agat dom, suífidh tú, agus ligfidh mé aire duit!” His wordscame fast and sharp, cutting through any protest Liam might have made. Then, seeing the stunned expression on Liam’s face, Ronan softened, adding in a gentler but no less firm tone, “Is féidir liom a bheith chomh stubborn mar tú nuair is mian liom a bheith.”

Liam blinked, his mouth twitching as though he wanted to argue but thought better of it. Finally, he sighed in defeat. “Well, if you insist.”

Graham, standing off to the side, didn’t understand most of what Ronan had said, but he didn’t need to. The tone, the gestures, and Liam’s reaction told the story well enough: Ronan had put his foot down.

With Ronan’s help, Liam climbed into the cart, his movements slow and careful. Once settled, he waved to the crowd that had gathered to see them off. Graham watched as Ronan climbed onto his horse, taking the reins and leading the cart down the road. The pair looked every bit like a king and his devoted knight, and Graham couldn’t help but smile.

He placed a hand on the small of Ciarán’s back, and together they stood in the quiet yard, watching their friends until they disappeared over the horizon.

The other Irish neighbors, who had come in droves to help, insisted on staying until all the day’s chores were done. They worked with the easy cheer of people buoyed by good news, and by the time the last wheelbarrow was stowed and the final gate latched, everyone’s spirits were high. Handshakes, hugs, and well-wishes were exchanged before the group finally dispersed, leaving Graham and Ciarán standing alone in the dusky quiet of the ranch.

After all the commotion of the past few days, the silence felt like a balm. The absence of bustling voices, clinking tools, and barking dogs left room for the natural sounds of the ranch to reclaim their place: the rustling of the trees, the soft lowingof the cattle, and the distant whinny of a horse. Graham let out a long, slow breath, tension draining from his shoulders as he turned to Ciarán.

It was a relief to finally have time alone with his husband again.

But there was one matter they couldn’t ignore.

Graham glanced at the small bed tucked against the wall of their bedroom. It had served them well enough in the early days, its too-small frame forcing them to sleep close—an arrangement neither had minded. But that same bed had borne witness to Liam’s injury and recovery. It had been soaked with blood, its blankets used to staunch the flow, and for days, it had held the weight of life and death. Now, even clean and empty, it felt like it belonged to a different chapter of their lives.

“I’ll finish the new frame,” Graham said, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, practical. “And we’ll order a new mattress. But we’ve got the bedroll, and plenty of blankets. It’ll do for now.”

Ciarán frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Will that be comfortable for you?”

Graham chuckled. “More comfortable than the hayloft.”

“Well, all right, then.” Ciarán gave a small smile, his frown easing. “That’s fine with me. Let’s go to the general store tomorrow.”

Graham nodded. “We can do that.” The idea of a trip to town—a chance to replace what had been lost and perhaps indulge in a few treats—appealed to him. The past few days had been relentless, and he wanted to reclaim some small piece of normalcy. “What should we do with the old bed?”

The mattress, though slightly lumpy, was still serviceable. Graham glanced at it with a carpenter’s critical eye, but Ciarán tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin before Graham could suggest selling it.

“Perhaps—” Ciarán’s lips curved into a mischievous smile. “Perhaps Roisin would like it. We could keep it at the foot of our new bed.”

As if summoned by his name, Roisin appeared in the doorway, his tail wagging enthusiastically. The dog had quickly become spoiled during the recent chaos, basking in attention and treats from the visitors. He looked every bit the pampered pet, his posture one of lazy confidence, as though he knew his life was enviable.

Graham grinned. “Well, let’s see if he approves.”

The two of them dragged the mattress down from the bed frame and laid it on the floor in the corner of the room. Ciarán fetched one of Roisin’s blankets and spread it across the top, tucking it neatly. Roisin trotted up, sniffed the setup thoroughly, then circled once before flopping down in the center. He let out a contented sigh and rested his chin on his paws, his eyes half-closed. It was as if the mattress had always been his, and he’d simply been waiting for them to realize it.

“Well, I’d say he approves,” Ciarán said with a chuckle.

Graham folded his arms, watching the dog settle in. “Looks like he’s claimed it.”

Roisin wagged his tail lazily in agreement, his kingdom now complete.

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