Page 7 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

The moment felt suspended in time. Graham wanted nothing more than to snatch the letter from Alonso’s hands, tear it open right there and then, and devour every word. But instead, he forced himself to remain calm. He thanked Alonso again for the delivery, tucking the letter carefully into his own pocket as if it were something fragile, something precious.

Alonso, seemingly unaware of the internal storm Graham was weathering, continued to help him with the parcels. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said with a cheerful wave as he climbed back onto his horse. “You’ve got plenty of work to do, but take your time with that letter. I imagine you’ll be reading it over a few times.”

Graham waved goodbye and watched him disappear down the path before rushing inside and ripping open the envelope.

Dear Mister Graham Shepherd,

For just this one letter I will still address you as such, because while I will soon marry you we are not wedded and should not be so familiar to border on intimacy just yet. I ask that you think on the matter: when I arrive and we are joined in matrimony, would you have me refer to you by your Christian name, or Mister Shepherd, or shall I simply call you husband?

I have no real affairs to settle, as I previously mentioned. My material possessions are packed, and my landlady has gotten over the shock of losing a paying tenant and is now eager for me to leave so that she may find the next one. I’ve written my father, to tell him that soon he will havea son-in-law, and I’ve included your address so that he’ll know my new place of residence.

The clerk at the railway station is very familiar to me now because I have been pestering her about travel times. Letter and body travel at the same speeds these days, it seems. Roughly five days for my letter to reach Larkspur, and roughly five days for me to meet you, what with all the stops that must be taken.

Have you ever traveled by train before? I haven’t! You’ve said it’s not very comfortable but I cannot think it would be more unpleasant than my journey to this country! I do not recommend a crowded ship in a storm-tossed sea, not one bit!

This, I think, will be a much more pleasant adventure. And my sincere thanks for the fare. I admit that I had planned to carefully ration some sandwiches along the way. But now I can sample the meals in the dining car and compare them to those at a Harvey House. How exciting! I feel like a world traveler!

Here, I have also thought of how we shall recognize one another at the train station. Unfortunately, since I have no photograph to send to you, and as I have no description of you, either, I fear that whatever I saw about myself might be subjective. Perhaps, compared to you, I am very short, or of average height, or my hair is more auburn than brown, more wavy than curly.

But I own a straw hat, trimmed with dark green ribbon. I would like to think that it is so very unique that no one else has ever heard of a straw hat with dark green ribbon, and that you will be in awe of my elegance and new fashion, but alas, I bought it from a milliner, and if one such item caught a customer’s eye than no doubt she made another. Therefore, I will add a paper flower to my hat. I highly doubt that there willbe another man with a straw hat with a dark green ribbon and a paper flower arriving at Larkspur!

And I will search for you, too. I will find you, I hope, by the earnest expression you’ll wear, eager to meet the man who will become your husband. I plan on buying my ticket on the fifth, so that we shall meet on the tenth.

Yours,

Ciarán Ryan

Graham was struck immediately with the realization he’d purchased a gift of a straw hat with a green ribbon, and yet the man already possessed one. Should he return it? Find something more suitable? Maybe he might like to have an extra just in case something happened to his original. Then, the real truth of the matter almost seemed to strike him in the head as he reread the letter.

The tenth. The tenth—that meant that Ciarán was already on the train, traveling west. He’d be in Larkspur in less than three days time. And Graham still had so much to do. Clean the house, get his suit ready, figure out what to prepare for dinner, ask Liam and Ronan and Oscar to be their guests, tell the priest that the marriage would, in fact, take place.

His marriage. Soon, he’d leave the house in the morning a bachelor and return in the afternoon a newlywed, with his husband by his side.

Chapter Three

Two lengthy letters and a number of delicate, colorful sketches—and Graham had memorized them all as if they were the pages of a well-loved novel. The elegant, looping handwriting, the slight underlines that emphasized certain words, the way the ink seemed to almost dance across the paper. The color pencil drawings, bright but tender, seemed to capture the very essence of Ciarán—dreamy, thoughtful, a little whimsical. From these small clues, Graham tried to build a picture of the man who was to become his husband.

His imagination pieced together Ciarán bit by bit, like putting together a puzzle with no image to guide him. A straw hat with a green ribbon and a small paper flower tucked into the band—this seemed to fit, given how Ciarán had described his love of nature. Beneath the hat, Graham envisioned a pair of glasses perched on a narrow nose—glasses that spoke of someone who had spent many hours reading, learning, and reflecting. After all, Ciarán’s handwriting was so smooth and perfect, every word flowing effortlessly across the page. It suggested a man who was well-educated, someone whose mind was sharp and agile.

In Graham's mind, Ciarán’s fingers were long and graceful, the kind of fingers that could wield a pen or pencil with ease, drawing the world around him in exquisite detail. He imagined Ciarán to be a little smaller than himself, as most mentended to be. And though he had never met him, Graham could already picture the soft, kind smile that would greet him, a smile that made everything feel just a little bit lighter, just a little bit more hopeful.

"So, you really have no idea what the man will be like," Liam said, cutting through Graham's daydreams as he poured tea into a delicate china cup.

Graham looked up, a bit startled, then gave a sheepish smile. "He’ll have a—"

"Yes, yes," Liam interjected, his voice full of playful sarcasm. "A straw hat with a green ribbon and paper flower. You've said that already. But what do you really know about him?"

Graham shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling a little exposed under Liam’s questioning gaze. He had come to their house under the pretense of looking for a lost sheep, though it was really just an excuse to visit. The truth was, he had wanted to tell them about the wedding, to ask if they would be his guests. He had been putting it off for days, unsure how to broach the subject, but now it was time. After the initial surprise, Liam and Ronan had readily agreed to come, and Liam had insisted that Graham sit down for a cup of tea.

"I know he’s tired of city life," Graham said slowly, thinking back to Ciarán’s words. "He has a father still living, though I’m not sure where. He must like drawing, because he’s sent me a lot of sketches. And he’s Irish."

Liam’s face lit up instantly at the mention of Ireland. "Ah! Well, if he’s Irish, then you’ve made a good decision! Nothing like an Irish husband, eh?" He slapped Ronan on the shoulder with affectionate humor. Ronan, who was quieter than either of them, nodded slightly, taking another bite of his biscuit. His massive hand settled over Liam’s, a silent reassurance that spoke more than words could.

Graham smiled, grateful for the ease with which they accepted his news. But then Liam turned to him with an excited glint in his eye. "I’ll bake some things for the wedding. A nice soda bread. And a pie—though what kind? Hmm, I’ll figure it out. It’s the crust that’s all the work, not the filling. You can’t go wrong with a good crust, right?"

"You don’t have to bring anything," Graham said, though he already knew it wouldn’t be easy to convince Liam otherwise.

"Nonsense," Liam said, waving him off. "What’s a wedding without food? You’ll be having a reception, won’t you?"

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