Page 62 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

“No, no, I can fit you both in just fine,” the photographer said, a smile in her voice.

Ciarán had gone to set down his jar, but Graham stopped him. “Keep it in the photo, sweetheart.”

Ciarán looked at him in confusion. “What?”

“Hold it like this,” Graham said gently, taking the jar and turning it so that the red ribbon on top was visible to the camera. “So everyone can see it.”

Ciarán blushed. “It’s silly.”

Graham smiled, wishing the camera could capture the beautiful shade of pink on Ciarán’s cheeks. “It’s not silly. I’m proud of you, and I want everyone to see it. We had a good day today, didn’t we?”

Ciarán smiled, looking down at the jar, then back up at Graham. “We did.”

???

Two days after the fair, Oscar arrived at the ranch with a small cart, the sound of the horse's hooves echoing across the quiet land. He greeted Graham with a wide smile and handed over the prize—a bag of feed, the one Graham had won for his cattle’s victory—along with a letter addressed to Ciarán. Tucked carefully in his hands was the photograph of them from the fair, now developed and ready to be treasured.

Graham took the photo carefully from Oscar’s hands, his heart swelling with emotion as he looked down at the image. It was a perfect capture of the day, a reminder of how far they had come and how much love and joy they shared. There, standing side by side, were him and Ciarán, both wearing the flower crowns they had made for each other. Graham’s hand rested lightly on Ciarán’s shoulder, a gentle, protective gesture that spoke of their bond. Ciarán’s hands were clasped around the jar of blackberry jam, the red ribbon tied around it still clearly visible. They both wore smiles that could light up the world, so filled with contentment and shared happiness. Him and his husband.

Graham felt his throat tighten, and he had to look away for a moment, his eyes welling with tears. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure, but the overwhelming sense of joy and pride wouldn’t quite leave him. He cleared his throat, trying to mask the emotion, and turned back to Ciarán. “What’s that, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse, his attempt at casualness failing.

Ciarán had already started to read the letter in his hands, his expression quickly shifting to one of pure excitement. Hisvoice shook with the energy of the news he had just read. “A letter from my father,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “He says he’ll be here in December! He’s coming to visit, Graham! We have to get ready! His room still isn’t finished, and he says he’ll send some of his things to us, and we need to make space for them, and—”

Graham’s heart gave a flutter at the thought of Ciarán’s father coming to stay. It was a big step, a sign of the deepening connection between their two families. But he could see how overwhelmed Ciarán was getting, the flurry of thoughts and preparations starting to pull him in all directions. Graham placed a calming hand on his husband’s arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “We have plenty of time, sweetheart,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “It’ll get done.”

Ciarán paused, a deep breath escaping his lips, and his shoulders seemed to relax under Graham’s touch. He nodded slowly, allowing himself to be comforted by the certainty in his husband’s voice. “Yes, you’re right,” he said, a little quieter, more grounded now. “You’re right.”

With a gentle smile, Graham cupped Ciarán’s face, leaning in to kiss his cheek. The warmth and tenderness of the moment enveloped them, and for a brief instant, everything felt perfect. Of course it would get done. They had more than a month to prepare for his father’s visit. Time would stretch just long enough for all the little details to be arranged—Rory Ryan’s room would be ready, his things would find their place in their home, and everything would be in order. When Ciarán’s father arrived in December, Graham knew they would both be there to greet him, to welcome him into the home they had built together. A warm, loving home, one that would now be shared with a new member of their family.

And then, when the day came, the three of them would make their way back to the ranch. Graham could already pictureit—the moment when they would all settle together under the same roof. It was the next step in this beautiful journey they had embarked on, a journey that was still unfolding with each passing day. No matter the challenges that lay ahead, they would face them together, hand in hand, as a family.

Chapter Sixteen

By the time winter arrived, Graham and Ciarán had worked tirelessly to prepare their home for the cold months ahead. The cellar was stocked with the fruits and vegetables they had preserved during the fall—jars of jams, pickles, and vegetables lined up neatly in rows, ready to be enjoyed through the long, chilly months. The last of the summer grass had been carefully cut, stored in the barn, and set aside for feed for the livestock. They’d repaired and reinforced the chicken coop, barn, and stables, ensuring that they would withstand even the harshest of winter storms. The firewood was neatly stacked, ready to be used whenever the chill in the air became unbearable. And, just in time, the final touches were put on the addition to the house—a room for Rory, Ciarán’s father, who would soon be arriving.

The first signs of their preparations came one cold morning when Oscar appeared at the door, hauling packages full of items that had arrived for Rory. There were clothes, knickknacks, books, and a surprising number of supplies for knitting—something Ciarán found a bit amusing considering that Rory had never been one to show much interest in the craft. But what caught Graham’s eye most was the assortment of gardening tools.

“Gardening tools?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he watched Ciarán sift through the small trowel and shears.

Ciarán sighed, a fond but exasperated expression crossing his face. “He said he wanted to help out around here. I told him that we had everything we needed at the ranch, but sometimes he just doesn’t listen…” Ciarán gave a small laugh, clearly understanding the good intentions behind his father’s insistence on providing more.

With some of Rory’s belongings now in their home, Ciarán took charge of furnishing the room that would become his father’s. He spent hours poring over the general store’s furniture catalog, making sure every detail was perfect. He ordered a new trunk, a sturdy desk and chair, a mirror, a wash basin, and a comfortable mattress. But his most thoughtful purchase was the rocking chair—a cozy, cushioned chair meant not for Rory’s room but for the corner near the stove, where his father could rest and keep warm during the colder months.

Ciarán also requested that Graham build another bed for Rory’s room—a sturdy frame to fit the mattress—and a large bookcase. Graham had his reservations at first, unsure of Rory’s taste or what kind of furniture would suit him best. But Ciarán reassured him that as long as the bed was comfortable and the bookcase could hold a large collection of books, his father would be pleased.

With that, Graham set to work. He crafted a simple but solid bed frame, one that would fit Rory’s specific needs. The mattress fit perfectly, and Graham could picture his father-in-law sleeping soundly in the bed, content with the comfort it offered. He also built a large bookcase, tall and sturdy enough to hold the wealth of knowledge he suspected Rory would bring with him. Graham chuckled to himself at the thought of how many books Rory might carry from Ireland. Perhaps an entire library.

“What about blankets?” Graham asked one evening as they reviewed their progress. “Pillows—we need to get pillows.I want Rory to step into his room and feel like everything is perfect. I want him to know we’ve thought of everything.”

Ciarán smiled softly, his fingers lightly brushing through the fabric of the quilt they were preparing. “I’ll make the pillows. He’s very particular about them. As for the blankets, he told me that he’s bringing the quilts from our old house.”

Graham’s heart swelled at the thought of those quilts—memories of Ciarán’s childhood, a tangible piece of his family’s past that would now be part of their home. “Is there anything else he needs?” Graham asked, unable to hide the sense of urgency in his voice. The date of Rory’s arrival was fast approaching, and he wanted everything to be perfect.

Ciarán paused, glancing over at Graham, his voice quiet as he said, “If there’s anything he needs, we can get it. I’ll find whatever he wants, if only he arrives safely.”

Graham could sense the worry in his husband’s tone. It was the same worry that had kept Ciarán awake the night before, thinking about his father’s journey. The long trip from Ireland, the uncertainty of navigating through New York City, finding the right train to take him nearly across the country to Larkspur—Ciarán couldn’t shake the anxiety that something might go wrong along the way.

Graham pulled him into an embrace, his voice soothing as he whispered, “He will, sweetheart. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

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