Page 24 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

“Goodnight, Ciarán,” Graham replied, though Ciarán was already halfway down the ladder. He heard the barn door creak shut, and then the gentle sounds of the livestock settling in for the night.

Graham lay back down, the pillow soft under his head and smelling faintly of soap and wildflowers. It was the most comfortable he’d been all day, but an unease lingered in his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss, some part of the night he had missed, some way that he’d failed to fully be the kind of husband Ciarán deserved.

Chapter Seven

Graham couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone wrong, that he’d done something to cause a shift in Ciarán’s behavior. His husband was still as dutiful as ever with the chores, still as kind-hearted, still the same Ciarán who had stepped into his life with so much warmth. But now, it seemed that after their conversation in the hayloft, he had become quieter—more withdrawn than before.

Graham could see it in the way Ciarán moved through the house, in the way he tended to the animals and worked the fields. His presence was still there, but it felt like something was missing. The chatter that used to fill the quiet moments between them had diminished, replaced by an unspoken distance that Graham couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He wanted to bring Ciarán back. He wanted to hear him hum in the pasture, to feel his laughter echoing around the ranch. Graham had never wanted anything more than Ciarán’s happiness. He needed him to stay. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, especially not now. He was no longer a young man—his body was marked by scars and time, his mind weighed down by the years of loneliness and regret. But now, with Ciarán in his life, he felt something he hadn't in ages: peace. Ciarán had become a part of everything—his home, his routines, his every day. His footprints were in the dirt of the fields, his soft voice filling the space of their house, his presence a constant comfort.

Graham had never been happier in his entire life. Marrying Ciarán had been the best decision he had ever made, and now, he had to make sure that Ciarán was just as happy with his decision. He couldn’t stand the thought that he might be the one causing Ciarán’s unease.

That’s why Sunday needed to go perfectly.

Graham hadn’t set foot in a church in years, but he remembered well enough what it was like. There were expectations—traditions to uphold. You had to dress well, be respectful, and sit through the long service. It was a lot of work for what amounted to a few hours of sitting and listening to someone talk. But today, it was important. Today, he needed to make everything go right for Ciarán.

He pulled on his suit, the same one he had worn to their wedding, and did his best to prepare himself. His hair was messy from the work he had been doing all week, and he trimmed his beard just enough to make it look purposeful rather than wild. He polished his shoes, though they were worn from years of use, and tried not to complain about the whole ordeal. He was doing it for Ciarán.

And then, Ciarán appeared.

He had changed into one of his new outfits—pressed white shirt, a plaid double-breasted waistcoat in muted brown, beige, and black, paired with brown trousers. He had even donned a straw hat, its black velvet ribbon accentuated by wildflowers freshly cut from the prairie. The sight of him nearly stole the breath from Graham’s chest. He was stunning, so much so that Graham almost forgot to speak. But when their eyes met, Ciarán blushed and quickly looked away.

“How do I look?” Ciarán asked, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Graham was momentarily speechless, but he quickly recovered. “You look like you stepped right out of a fashion plate,” he said, unable to keep the awe from his voice.

Ciarán let out a nervous laugh, the sound sweet and nervous. “Oh, Graham. Honestly—do I look okay? I want to make a good first impression.”

Graham smiled, the corners of his mouth curling up in genuine affection. “I wouldn’t lie to you,” he said, though a frown creased his brow as he thought of the church. “And you’ve already met most of the people who’ll be there from the wedding. They liked you plenty.”

Ciarán's worry didn’t seem to fade. “Oh, but this is different. This is church. I hope I remember everyone’s names. And you’ll have to show me where to sit.”

“Right,” Graham said, a small sense of dread creeping in. “Should be room for the both of us. In my usual… pew.”

Ciarán gave a small nod, though he still looked uncertain, and Graham’s heart ached with the need to make everything right for him.

As they climbed into the buggy, Graham took a deep breath, deciding it was time to start his own quiet prayer.Lord, he thought,forgive me for straying from Your path. As You can see, I’m currently back on it, heading to church thanks to my husband, who is good and faithful. If You could find it in Your Godliness to spare me from making a fool of myself in front of him today, I’d be eternally grateful, and I promise I’ll be at Your service, and church service, every Sunday from here on out.

The wind rustled the prairie grass as they made their way down the road, and Ciarán’s voice broke the silence. “I think it’s a very fine day,” he murmured softly, his smile gentle and full of warmth.

Graham couldn't help but smile, the sincerity in his heart finding its way into his words. “Amen,” he muttered under his breath.

???

The fear of God gripped Graham like a vice. He hadn’t prayed like this in years, not since he was a boy, and the weight of his anxiety made every word of his pleas to the Lord feel desperate and raw. He had started as soon as they left the house, whispering quiet prayers beneath his breath, asking for guidance, for mercy, for forgiveness. But now, the panic was growing, as if each second he spent in that church was another step toward exposing every flaw he carried with him.

The choir’s voices were soaring through the church, but to Graham, their song sounded like a dirge of judgment. It was as though each note was directed solely at him, a clear condemnation for his years away from the faith. His mind raced, scrambling for some form of solace as the sound of the hymns filled the air—notes that seemed to echo louder in his head than in the grand hall itself. He tried to keep his head down, hoping the attention of the congregation would stay elsewhere, but the whispers and stares of the townsfolk cut through him like a blade.

He felt every pair of eyes on him. His heart pounded as the familiar faces of his neighbors watched him walk by, surprised and shocked by his sudden reappearance in a place he hadn’t been in years. Graham prayed fervently that no one would ask about it, that no one would make a comment about how out of place he felt in the house of God. He could almost feel their judgment in the way they eyed him as he passed, and he couldn’t bear to meet their gazes.

Ciarán, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the attention. His husband, with his bright eyes and open heart, was taking it all in with quiet curiosity. Ciarán had likely been too distracted during the wedding to really notice the church’s layout, and now, he was eagerly scanning the rows of pews, his gaze flicking from side to side with wonder. Graham was thankful for the distraction. At least Ciarán was more concerned with familiarizing himself with the place than wondering why the church had turned into a spectacle because of their arrival.

“Where do you usually sit, Graham?” Ciarán asked, his voice soft, not yet realizing the tension gnawing at Graham’s insides.

Graham’s prayer intensified, an urgent plea that there would be enough space in the crowded church for them both. They needed somewhere to sit, a place where they wouldn’t be forced to stand in the back, exposed for all to see. He glanced around, his stomach tightening with dread as his eyes scanned the packed pews. The church was full, too full for his liking. He cursed their piety under his breath. Why couldn’t this town be like others, where the saloons had more patrons than the house of worship? It would have made this whole thing much easier.

“Graham?” Ciarán’s voice pulled him back from his spiraling thoughts.

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