Page 61 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

They spent the rest of the afternoon playing carnival games, testing their luck and skill. They played ring toss and cornhole, and even entered their guesses for how many gumdrops were in a jar. Graham figured 150 was a nice, roundnumber, but Ciarán thought a slightly higher estimate—174—might stand a better chance, so he entered it into the ballot box.

There was plenty of time before the main events—the cattle show and the jam and preserve judging—so they shared a sandwich under the shade of a nearby tree and sipped on apple cider, watching the flow of people around them. They waved at friends, exchanged pleasantries, and enjoyed the lively atmosphere of the fair.

Eventually, they parted ways in the middle of town—Graham needing to return to the animal shows at the corral and Ciarán heading toward the food-tasting tents beneath the church.

“I’ll come find you afterward,” Graham promised, giving his husband a quick kiss. “I know you’ll do well.”

“Good luck, Graham,” Ciarán said with a smile, his voice full of encouragement, before dashing off toward the tents with his jar of blackberry jam in hand.

Graham didn’t mind the wait. The cows were one of the last categories to be judged, but he enjoyed watching the competition, studying the other entrants, seeing what qualities they prized in their livestock. It wasn’t just about the ribbons—it was about business, too. He’d been thinking of expanding his herd with a stud, and maybe even adding a few ducks. If the wait got too long, he could always rest in the stable with his animals until it was time for them to show off their skills.

Mr. and Mrs. Duncan were there, showcasing their two best horses—the very ones that had been stolen by Lachapelle and which Graham, Ciarán, and others had helped retrieve. The horses performed flawlessly, their movements synchronized to the point that it seemed like a single, well-oiled machine. The pair of them worked together seamlessly, guiding the horses around the pen, and when they finished their routine, the crowderupted in applause. It was a well-deserved tribute to the skill and care that had gone into raising those horses.

It was no surprise that Liam and Ronan’s sheep won first prize in their category. Graham congratulated Liam on both his recovery and his success with his ewe. “Where’s Ronan?” he asked.

Liam grinned. “Ah, he’s entered a chocolate cake in the baking contest. They’re probably judging it under the tents now.”

“Ciarán’s over there, too,” Graham said. “He entered his blackberry jam.”

“Good luck to him—those old timers know how to make a preserve,” Liam chuckled.

“Thanks. I hope Ronan does well, too. Congratulations again,” Graham said, giving the ewe a pat on the head as she nudged him affectionately with her nose.

Soon it was time for the cattle show, and Graham led his cow—an elegant Shorthorn with a coat of white and red spots—into the arena. The judges inspected the animals with professional detachment, but Graham could see that none of the other cows quite compared to his. She had a regal bearing, intelligent dark eyes, and a temperament that made her easy to handle. As the other animals were judged, Graham watched them closely, taking mental notes of the quality of the stock and the care their owners put into them.

When the judges awarded his cow first place, he kept his expression schooled, though he couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips. It wouldn’t do to gloat, not in front of the crowd, but he couldn’t help but feel proud. “Good girl,” he murmured to his cow, and she preened as though she knew exactly how lovely she looked with her shiny coat and blue ribbon draped around her neck.

With his cow left to rest, Graham went to find Ciarán. He walked under the tents where the food entries were laid out—cakes, pies, cookies, candies, jams, jellies, and preserves in every conceivable flavor. Graham couldn’t resist stopping to marvel at the delicacies—meringues, shortbread, caramels, and all kinds of colorful desserts. He could see the happy faces of those sampling bits and pieces of the treats, and it filled him with a warmth that seemed to radiate from the heart of the fair.

There, near the edge of the tent, Graham spotted Ronan, holding a platter that displayed a nearly empty chocolate cake. The judges had clearly liked it, as the top of the cake was missing most of its layers, leaving only a small portion behind. The rest of the cake was adorned with chocolate frosting, shavings, and brandied cherries, and pinned to the top was a blue ribbon.

“Look at that!” Graham said, stepping closer. “Two blue ribbons for you and Liam to take home. Your sheep won the show.”

Ronan grinned, his face lighting up with pride. “Ar fheabhas,” he said. “Graham, is buaiteoir é d'fhear céile freisin.”

“I knew he would!” Ciarán beamed, before adding, “It’s a lovely cake. You deserve it!”

Before long, Ciarán found his way to Graham’s side, holding his jar of blackberry jam in hand. “Second place,” he said, a little shyly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Second place? That’s amazing!” Graham kissed him, feeling the thrill of the day’s accomplishments. “I knew you’d do great. You’re the best in town.”

Ciarán chuckled. “Well, second best. Mrs. Alvarez’s green pepper jelly took first place.”

“Mrs. Alvarez has been sweeping the fair for years,” Graham said with a smile. “But second place is incredible, and I’m so proud of you. First in my book, though.”

Ciarán smiled and held up his jar. “We still have half of this jar. And they gave me a plate of biscuits as part of my prize!”

“Three dollars, too. Not bad at all,” Graham said, laughing.

As they made their way toward the vendors, Ciarán spotted something that made his eyes light up. “Oh, Graham, look! We can have our portrait taken!”

A photographer had set up a booth in the middle of town, with a view of the fair in the background. The hustle and bustle of the fair’s activities—the tents, the colorful decorations, the people—would all be captured in the shot.

Graham smiled, taking Ciarán’s hand. “Let’s go.”

They waited their turn, patiently watching a small family and a few young couples before it was their turn. When they finally stepped up, the photographer adjusted her camera and commented, “Quite tall, sir.”

“Should I sit?” Graham asked, trying to make himself more comfortable, though he knew he would tower over Ciarán even sitting down.

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