Page 3 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

Every Friday, he walked in full of hope, and every Friday, he walked out empty-handed, disappointment settling a littledeeper in his chest. But still, he kept coming back. Because what if?

Just a little while longer, he told himself. He could keep acting foolish, lovesick for anybody and nobody, for the smallest chance of affection. Just for a little while longer.

???

As had become his habit, Graham hitched Ginger to the wagon early Friday morning and made the trip into town. When he’d first started his weekly journeys, the sight of him strolling through the bustling main street had been a novelty. People had paused mid-step to stare openly, their curiosity barely concealed. Graham Shepherd wasn’t known for his love of crowds, or for his frequent presence in town. In fact, he wasn’t known much at all.

A confirmed bachelor living alone on the prairie, Graham kept mostly to himself. He sold eggs to the woman at the general store, stopped in occasionally to place orders for seeds, tools, or medicine, and during the harvest, he hired a few workers to help with the backbreaking labor of collecting and packaging his crops. Apart from those practical interactions, his life was largely solitary. Even his nearest neighbors, Liam and Ronan, only saw him on rare occasions—when a sheep wandered too far onto his land or when they lent each other a hand during emergencies, like a cow struggling to calf or a sudden storm wreaking havoc on the fencing.

Over time, his Friday visits to town became less remarkable to the townsfolk. His presence was no longer a cause for whispers or blatant stares, though he still caught the occasional furtive glance. People were always surprised by his size, and the scars that cut jagged lines across his face and hands only deepened the intrigue. But Graham had grown usedto those looks long ago. They no longer stung, and he paid them little mind.

The post office was quiet when he arrived, the bell above the door jingling as he stepped inside. Oscar was there, as always, standing behind the counter in his crisp uniform. Graham prepared himself for the usual polite but disappointing exchange. He’d grown accustomed to Oscar’s professional smile and the routine response: “Nothing for you this week, Mr. Shepherd.”

But today was different.

The moment Oscar saw him, his face lit up. The man practically beamed, his nervous demeanor replaced with genuine excitement. “Right on time!” he exclaimed, his voice loud enough to echo in the small room. “Your letter’s finally arrived!”

Graham blinked, stunned. For a moment, he thought he must have misheard. “Really?” he asked, his voice cautious, the word barely above a whisper.

“Yes, sir!” Oscar said, nodding enthusiastically. “All the way from New York!”

From behind the counter, Oscar held out a thick envelope, its edges slightly worn from travel. It was far larger than Graham had expected, almost bursting with the sheer number of pages crammed inside.

“This is one letter?” Graham asked, his lips twitching into a hesitant smile that quickly widened. He reached out to take the parcel, the weight of it solid in his hands. The sender appeared to be aware of the bulk of the letter. They had very carefully sealed it shut, posted two stamps in the corner and very carefully written on the back was:

From: Ciarán Ryan

431 Baker’s Court

Mrs. Edward’s Boarding House

Room 4, On the Left, Blue Door

New York

To: Mister Graham Shepherd

Box 202, Larkspur Post Office

Montana

A reply. Graham could hardly believe it. He had thought, perhaps, that his personal in The Matrimonial Journal might go unanswered. And yet, here it was—a letter. From New York, no less. He stared at the envelope as though it might vanish if he looked away. The eastern cities weren’t short on lonely people, of course, but still, the distance seemed incredible. The journal circulated far and wide, but he hadn’t dared hope it might reach someone so... perfect.

He glanced at Oscar, the postman, who was sorting through the rest of the mail with practiced ease. “Could I—read this here?”

Oscar gave a genial nod. “Oh, certainly. Go right ahead.”

Graham sank onto the wooden bench just outside the post office, the spring sunshine warming his shoulders. He studied the handwriting on the envelope—neat, practiced, and undeniably elegant. Ciarán Ryan. An Irish name, he thought. That brought a small, curious smile to his lips.

He slid his pocketknife carefully along the seal and took a deep breath. Folding back the flap, he removed the letter with reverent care. The paper was fine, the words penned in the same flowing script as the envelope. For a moment, he hesitated, letting the anticipation build before finally reading.

Dear Mister Graham Shepherd,

I am writing, sir, to tell you that I have read your personal in The Matrimonial Journal and that, with your approval, I would like to take you up on your offer. I desire a marriage very much, for I have been here in New York without family for some time and would dearly like a friend. I alsothink the city life does not agree with me. Your description of the prairie, with all the blossoms, has taken root in my mind and flourished into a great many daydreams. I would dearly love to see it. The real thing must be more beautiful than my imaginings. I cannot say that I have much experience with animals but I do very much like all the ones that I’ve come across and I would like to learn more about them.

You might think me very selfish, with all these I’s, but I want to assure you that I have thought of this with practicality and have come to the decision that the hustle and bustle in the city is not to my liking and that I would be the most agreeable husband in such an environment as the prairie.

I have also thought of this with much sentiment, and I will say that I found your personal to be both very honest and very kind. If you are as you have written, which I imagine you are, then to be your lifelong companion would be, I think, a very welcome role that would give me much contentment.

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