Page 58 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

Her words worked like a balm to soothe Ciarán’s frazzled nerves. He managed a small smile, a flicker of hope returning to his eyes. Graham shot Mrs. Duncan a grateful smile in return, feeling a sense of relief wash over him.

“Thank you, Mrs. Duncan,” Graham said. “What happened next? After you left the sheriff’s office?”

“Well,” Mrs. Duncan continued, “Baron Lachapelle was still in the middle of arguing that his son hadn’t done anything worth being jailed for when Ronan and Liam burst in, followed by the deputy and that big bear of a man and the little spitfire himself. Jean saw Ronan and practically begged to be put back in the cell, he looked like a man who knew he was caught. And thenLiam starts hollering, telling the sheriff to put the bandana back on him so he could be sure it was the same man he’d seen trying to steal their sheep.”

Mrs. Duncan chuckled at the memory. “Then, there’s Nathan, who’s standing by the door, watching it all go down. He sees Jean trying to slink away, so he goes, ‘Deng yixià!’—‘Wait a minute!’—and grabs him to pull him back. And Jean, naturally, growls out, ‘Get your hands off of me!’”

At that moment, Mrs. Duncan clapped her hands together in delight. “Would you believe it? Liam just points and shouts, ‘That’s him for sure! That’s what he sounded like when I tried to stop him from stealing our sheep!’”

What followed, Mrs. Duncan said, was chaos—worse than anything that had happened before. “Ronan, of course, being Ronan, throws aside the sheriff, the Baron, the sheriff’s desk, and wraps his big hands around Jean’s throat, shouting in Irish. Lachapelle, in a panic, admits to everything. Every last bit of it. He tells them where the horses are, on his father’s ranch, just wandering around. The bastard took care of them at least, but only because he was hoping to breed them. He thought he could get the best from all the stock around here. The horses, the sheep, the cows. But it didn’t quite work out for him, did it?”

Mrs. Duncan paused, her face a mixture of disbelief and disgust. “Anyway, that’s what I came here to tell you. I figured you’d want to know. And, well, here’s a little something for your trouble.”

She reached into her pocket and slid a small stack of bills across the table. Graham stared at it, his eyes widening at the amount.

It was nearly $300.

Ciarán immediately objected, his voice soft but firm. “Ma’am, that’s too much.”

Mrs. Duncan shook her head. “No, it’s not. You deserve every penny. We should’ve posted a reward, but the sheriff and his deputy insisted the horses might’ve just wandered off. As if Nathan or I would’ve just let them wander off.” She sighed, frustrated by the whole ordeal. “Then with the incident at your neighbors’ place and now this at your ranch, the whole town’s been on edge. You caught Jean, put an end to the madness. So, here’s a reward. You two did a good thing, and I’m glad it’s over.”

“I got something in mind,” Graham said, his tone thoughtful as he looked at the money. There was someone else he had in mind for it—his father-in-law, still overseas. This brought them that much closer to making their reunion possible, and Graham could already picture the joy on Ciarán’s face when they could finally bring him home.

Ciarán didn’t protest anymore, his eyes softening with a quiet acceptance of Mrs. Duncan’s generosity. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Mrs. Duncan smiled, rose from her seat, and turned to head back out. “Don’t mention it. Just keep your heads down. The storm’s passed for now, but the wind’s still blowing. You’ve done good work, and now you get your reward.”

With that, she left them, her horse waiting for her at the gate.

Graham looked over at Ciarán, who was still holding the stack of bills, the weight of the situation settling in. A future that seemed uncertain now felt a little more tangible. He squeezed Ciarán’s hand. “We’ll get him back here. We’re closer than we’ve ever been.”

Ciarán nodded, his smile returning, brighter this time. “Yes. Together.”

???

It wasn’t until they finished up for the day and were washing up for supper that Graham decided to ask Ciarán exactly what happened between him and Jean Lachapelle.

Maybe it was a dirty trick—catching his husband by surprise when he was underdressed and vulnerable—but it was better than broaching the subject while they were eating, or before they went to bed.

Ciarán dipped a cloth in a basin of cool water, wrung it out, and wiped the sweat from his neck and chest, running the damp material along his freckled skin. His curls were windswept, his cheeks flushed pink. Droplets of water glistened on his collarbone, his stomach, his hips. He looked gorgeous. He always looked gorgeous.

Graham watched him. He took a deep breath. “Ciarán—will you tell me what Lachapelle said to you that day I was at Ronan and Liam’s?”

For a moment Ciarán didn’t acknowledge that he’d heard him. Instead, he asked, “Will you help me wash my back?”

He handed Graham the cloth and turned around. Graham placed a hand on his hip and gently brushed the cloth down his back in slow, smooth swipes. Ciarán was just as freckled there as he was anywhere else.

“I’m not mad, sweetheart,” Graham said. “I just—I’d like to know.”

Ciarán took a deep breath. “I’m embarrassed.” But then he said, “He came with flowers, and asked about Liam. If he’d woken up, if he saw who’d attacked him. I thought he was concerned, but now I know he was just seeing if he had anything to worry about—if Liam could identify him. He was relieved when I said he was still sleeping. That’s when he said that we’d gotten off to the wrong start, and that he had just come to check up on me because he wasn’t sure of your—skills. As a rancher, or as a husband.” Ciarán’s cheeks were red. “He offered to buysome of the cows, because it’d be easier for us if they were off our hands so there’d be less work for us and more—free time. For other things. He said he could show me what I was missing. I told him I’d never been happier, Graham. I told him to leave.”

That made sense, Graham thought. That made a lot of sense. He’d already refused to sell his prize cows to the Lachapelle once before. It was just like the man to try again—and to proposition his husband in the process.

Graham let the anger inside him flicker and die. There was no point to it now. Jean Lachapelle was in the law’s hands now, and Ciarán was safe and sound here with him. He did wish that he’d gotten a few more hits in, though.

To Ciarán he said, “I’m sorry he said those things to you, sweetheart,” and held him close.

“I just—didn’t want to make you worry when there was already so much going on. And I was also a bit worried that, well. That I might’ve done something that made him think I was courting his attention.”

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