Page 53 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

“We’ve got some in the barn,” Graham replied, his voice low. “But—”

“But you don’t want to leave me alone with him?” Ciarán finished for him.

Graham nodded grimly. “Exactly.”

“I’m fine,” Ciarán reassured him, his gaze flicking to Roisin, who stood protectively at his side. “I have a guard dog, don’t I?” He whistled, and Roisin bounded to him, tail wagging.

Graham hesitated only for a moment before limping toward the barn, grabbing the rope from the wall. When he returned, he bound Lachapelle’s wrists and ankles tightly, his hands shaking with the effort to contain his anger. Lachapelle struggled and protested, but Graham wasn’t listening. He gagged him with the bandana, securing it tightly over his mouth.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you,” Graham growled as he stepped back. To Ciarán, he said, “I’ll stay here with him. Can you bring me a shirt and my boots, sweetheart? Can’t go into town half-naked.”

Ciarán looked down at himself, realizing the state he was in. “Goodness, I’ll need to change, too. Give me a moment.” He handed Graham the rifle before darting inside the house.

A few moments later, Ciarán returned, hastily dressed in pants and a shirt, carrying Graham’s clothes and boots. As Graham changed, Ciarán fussed over him, concern written all over his face. “Graham, you’re sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” Graham reassured him, though his side throbbed with every breath. “You saved me before I really gothurt.” He cupped Ciarán’s cheek gently. “You were like a hero out of a dime novel.”

Ciarán blushed, his smile soft but pleased.

Graham smiled back, pressing a quick kiss to Ciarán’s cheek before standing up. “Let’s get him in the cart. The horses are getting quite the workout these days.”

He snapped his fingers at the cows, motioning toward the barn. “Get back in there. You two have had enough excitement for one night.”

The animals, seemingly unbothered, chewed their cud, mooing softly as they ambled back into the barn.

Chapter Fourteen

It was the middle of the night, and the stars were so bright they seemed to hang in the air like scattered diamonds. The soft glow of moonlight cast long shadows across the road as the cart rumbled along, its wooden wheels creaking with every bump and jolt. The night felt oddly serene, the kind of calm that followed chaos, like the world had exhaled after the storm. Graham could feel the cool night air brushing against his face, but it didn’t dull the heat of anger that still simmered beneath his skin.

Beside him, Ciarán sat quietly, his back straight, the rifle draped across his lap. There was a stillness to his posture, a quiet strength that always seemed to settle over him when things were most uncertain. The rifle was an extension of Ciarán, a promise of protection, and right now, it made Graham feel a little less exposed.

The cart was heavy with the weight of their mission—and of Jean Lachapelle. Behind them, the rich, arrogant man who’d dared to steal from them and their neighbors was trussed up like a hog, his hands and feet bound tightly with rope, and his mouth gagged with the very bandana he’d worn earlier. He’d been surprisingly quiet ever since they’d left the farm, though the muffled curses and grunts from the back of the cart still filteredthrough the night air. Lachapelle wasn’t a man who knew how to stay silent for long, but his options were limited now.

"Odder things have happened," Graham thought to himself, but at the moment, it was hard-pressed to think of any. He couldn’t recall a single instance that had felt more surreal than this. Just days ago, he and Ciarán had been tending to the cows, laughing and joking about the next meal they’d have, and now here they were, on their way to town with a bound and gagged thief in tow, prepared to turn him in. It was as if life had spun on its axis and dumped them into a whole new world.

Ciarán shifted beside him, a slight motion that had Graham glancing at him, just in time to see him hide a yawn behind his hand.

“You tired, sweetheart?” Graham asked gently, his voice low so as not to disturb the night too much. "Go to sleep. I’ll wake you when we get to town."

Ciarán shook his head, his lips pulling into a small smile, though his exhaustion was evident in the slight droop of his shoulders. “No, I’m fine. Besides, you can’t drive the cart and keep an eye on him—” He turned to glance behind them at Lachapelle, who was making an incoherent series of muffled noises, his movements jerky as he struggled against the ropes. “—at the same time.”

Graham chuckled softly. “You’re right about that.” His gaze flicked to Lachapelle, who swore at them from behind his gag, his words no doubt filled with venom. At least, that’s what Graham assumed. Lachapelle had been swearing ever since they’d tied him up, a constant stream of insults that was muffled to the point of being comical.

It was almost too easy to ignore him now, though. The man had always been a thorn in their side, and now he was little more than a nuisance—a noisy one at that. Graham was used to dealing with threats, but somehow, the absurdity of thesituation made Lachapelle’s presence less threatening, more of an annoyance than anything else. The silence of the night was more of a comfort than a danger.

“All right,” Graham muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else, “I guess this is what happens when you decide to play the hero.” He couldn't help but smirk, though the moment felt strange. There was something surreal about this whole thing—the quiet night, the stars overhead, the tension coiled between them, and yet the odd, almost domestic feeling of it all. It was just another night for them, but this one was far from ordinary.

Behind them, Lachapelle’s voice rose, more muffled now, but still filled with defiance. "Mmmph... damn you... just wait—"

“Most pleasant Jean Lachapelle has ever been,” Graham muttered to himself with a dry laugh. He glanced over at Ciarán, who raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. They both knew exactly what he meant.

For all of Lachapelle’s bravado, he’d been eerily silent for most of the ride. Even with all his cursing, there was something about him that seemed smaller now, diminished by the ropes and the gag. The man who’d caused so much trouble for them and their friends was now just another criminal on his way to justice. The thought didn’t sit entirely well with Graham. He’d always preferred when things were simpler, when it was just him and Ciarán against the world. But life rarely worked out that way. Sometimes, the world was messy. Sometimes, it demanded they take actions they never imagined they would.

Ciarán let out another soft yawn, his eyes fluttering as he tried to fight it.

“Go to sleep,” Graham said again, this time with a gentle smile. "We’ve got time. Let me drive the cart. I’ll wake you up when we get to town."

“I’m fine,” Ciarán insisted, but his voice had the slightest edge of weariness now. “I’ll sleep once we’re done with this mess.”

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