Page 64 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

Good, Graham thought when Ciarán’s spend hit his tongue. He tasted so good.

There was still some time before they had to begin their day proper. Graham rested his head against Ciarán’s chest, soothed by the rhythm of his beating heart, and sighed with satisfaction as Ciarán ran his fingers through his hair.

“Good morning indeed,” Ciarán murmured.

Graham shook with laughter.

???

Once, winter had been the loneliest season for Graham. He had always dreaded the long, cold nights when the days grew shorter and the snow blanketed the world outside. The isolation weighed on him, pressing down as the dark sky seemed to stretch on forever. Back when he lived alone, even the simplest trip to town, just to place orders for the ranch or pick up supplies, felt like a lifeline. But when he returned home, there was no one to greet him, no familiar voice to break the silence. The evenings would stretch on endlessly, each one a reminder of all the mistakes he had made and all the ways he had failed. The cold didn’t just come from the outside; it seeped into his bones, a chill that came from within, from the emptiness of his life.

But now, things were different. The winter that had once felt so oppressive had transformed, like a storybook world cometo life. The fire in the stove crackled with warmth, filling the house with a comforting glow that made every room feel like a sanctuary. The scent of cider simmering on the stove mixed with the warmth of fresh bread baking in the oven, and there was always the sound of Ciarán bustling around—his soft footsteps as he moved from room to room, busy with the tasks of the day. Sometimes he would warm cider for them both, sometimes he would sit by the fire, stitching together a new quilt, his fingers moving with the same care and tenderness that he put into everything he did. Roisin would chase after him, his little paws pattering across the floor, and the two of them would play together, laughing as the puppy tumbled over Ciarán’s feet. At times, they would stop whatever they were doing and dance together, slow, graceful movements that made Graham’s heart swell. And Ciarán would sing—sometimes just a soft hum, other times a full melody that filled the house with joy. His voice was like the warmth of the fire, like a promise of home.

The snow outside would fall in great, lazy flakes, softening the world, making everything feel peaceful, timeless. And inside, Graham joined in, becoming part of the rhythm of life that Ciarán had woven around them. They experimented with cider recipes, each batch better than the last. Graham would sit beside Ciarán as he worked on the quilt, offering his help in any way he could, even if it was just threading needles or adjusting fabric. They tussled on the floor with Roisin, laughing until their sides hurt, and sometimes, when the mood struck them, they would dance together—swaying in each other’s arms, feeling the closeness, the connection, the love that seemed to envelop them both.

They would sit at the table with mugs of hot cider in their hands, talking about everything and nothing. There was always something to discuss—plans for the ranch, ideas for the future, thoughts on the past. And, of course, the ever-approachingarrival of Rory, Ciarán’s father, who would soon join them at the ranch. Graham imagined the three of them, living together under one roof, the dynamics of their little family shifting and growing. He thought of the conversations that would take place in their shared kitchen, of Ciarán and his father speaking in Irish as they cooked or worked together. He could picture Rory, sitting comfortably in the rocking chair Ciarán had bought him, perhaps with Roisin curled up at his feet, enjoying the quiet of the house. Maybe he would even take up some tailoring in the house, or perhaps, after so many years of hard labor, he could simply rest, content in the knowledge that he was surrounded by people who loved him.

One night, as they lay in bed, the darkness enveloping them like a blanket, Graham shared his thoughts with Ciarán. He spoke softly, his voice low in the stillness of the room, but Ciarán’s response was gentle, his words full of emotion. "Do you know," Ciarán said, his voice trembling ever so slightly, "every night, when I say my prayers, I thank God for you? For giving me this blessing—to be married to you. To be your husband, and to go to bed with you, and wake up with you, and to be by your side."

Graham’s heart caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he simply murmured his husband’s name, "Ciarán."

Ciarán chuckled softly, the sound rich with affection. "You are a very rare kind of man, to dream about when his father-in-law comes to live with him!" His arm moved in the dark, wiping his face as if trying to hide the tears that had formed there.

Graham pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him, feeling the warmth of Ciarán’s body next to his. He kissed his husband’s tear stained cheeks, brushing away the tears as best he could. He understood what Ciarán meant—thechanges that would come with Rory’s arrival were inevitable. They wouldn’t just be a newlywed couple anymore. They would be caretakers, a family. And while Graham was certain there would be challenges, there was also the promise of happiness, of sharing their lives with someone they both loved. How happy Ciarán would be to have his father with him again, to know that he wasn’t alone in the world. And Graham would be there, too, to look after Rory, to make sure he felt at home.

“There’s so much room in this house, Ciarán,” Graham said softly, his voice filled with quiet certainty.

Ciarán’s hand found his in the dark. "I love you, Graham."

"I love you," Graham replied, his heart full, his chest swelling with emotions he didn’t have words for. His love for Ciarán was overwhelming, all-encompassing, and it felt like it would pour out of him, filling the space around them, the entire house.

And as they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, Graham couldn’t help but think that maybe that was what warmed the house—their love. It seeped into the very walls, filling every room with a sense of peace, of belonging, of warmth that could withstand even the coldest winter nights.

???

The day Rory was to arrive, the house was alive with nervous excitement. Graham and Ciarán had breakfast with Liam and Ronan, who had come to offer their good wishes. The conversation was light, but there was a definite undercurrent of anticipation in the air. The warmth of the kitchen contrasted with the brisk, chilly morning outside, where a blanket of snow covered the earth, sparkling in the early light.

“This is very good news,” Liam said as he took a sip of his tea. “When your father’s settled in, bring him here and we’ll have tea. And we’d be delighted to help introduce him to the rest of the community. Is that not so, Ronan?” He looked over at Ronan with a playful smile.

Ronan, ever calm and composed, spread a bit of marmalade on a biscuit, his actions deliberate. He glanced up, giving a warm, affectionate smile before replying, “Sea, tá sé amhlaidh, mo ghrá,” which meant "Yes, that’s true, my love."

Ciarán smiled, but there was a trace of worry in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said softly. “We might keep to ourselves for a little while after this. Such a long journey, and in this weather—I worry papa will be quite tired. And it will take some time for him to get used to living on a ranch.”

Graham, sitting across from them, offered a reassuring smile. “If you two would like to visit, then we’d be glad to have you.”

Liam and Ronan exchanged a pleased glance, both men nodding with enthusiasm. “We’ll hold you to it,” Liam said with a wink.

The conversation shifted to other matters, but the topic of Rory’s arrival lingered in the air, as if it could not be fully set aside until the moment had passed. Eventually, the time came to say their goodbyes, and Graham and Ciarán bundled themselves up in coats, scarves, and mittens, ready to make their way to the train station. The winter landscape was peaceful, with snow covering the fields, trees, and roads in a thick layer. It was a beautiful sight, but the coldness made the journey feel more serious, more important, as if the land itself were holding its breath in anticipation.

As they walked toward the wagon, Graham couldn’t help but feel a tightening in his chest. Ciarán sat beside him, huddled under a blanket, his dark green scarf wrapped snugly aroundhis neck. The scarf was a gift from Graham, chosen specifically because it complemented Ciarán’s features so well. It was a small token of his love, something that warmed him from the outside in, just as Ciarán did for him in every other way.

Graham had always been a man of practicality, and while he disliked wearing anything on his hands when he was driving the horses, the cold didn’t bother him as much as it did Ciarán. His husband, however, was bundled up tightly, his cheeks flushed from the cold. There was something endearing about the way Ciarán looked in his layers, his eyes bright despite the chill, and Graham found himself smiling without even realizing it.

“What if the ice delayed the train?” Ciarán asked, his voice tinged with anxiety. “What if it derailed?”

Graham chuckled softly, trying to calm his husband’s nerves. “I worried about the same thing, you know. The day I came to collect you.”

For a moment, Ciarán’s anxiety seemed to dissipate, replaced by surprise. “What? Me?” he asked, his voice incredulous.

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