Page 4 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

If it is not too forthright to state, then I will note that there is nothing tying me to this city, and I have few possessions and no business to settle besides saying goodbye to the boarding house mistress. I would gladly board a train to meet you, and marry you, and see the flowers blooming on your land as soon as possible.

If it was too forthright to state, then please disregard my last paragraph, and instead imagine that I have instead written something very charming and very demure that has made you wonder at my grace and good character and has you scrambling to write back to me immediately.

Sincerely,

Ciarán Ryan

P.S. Included are some sketches I have made of your land, for your description inspired me very much. Tell me, did I manage to create an accurate likeness from my daydreams?There is also a likeness of my current place of residence, in case you are interested.

Graham read the letter once, twice, and a third time for good measure. His grin grew wider with each reading until his cheeks ached from the effort. The rest of the papers were, as promised, sketches. The drawings were lively, filled with bold strokes and bright colors from what looked like colored pencils. In one, a pond shimmered beneath a pale sky; in another, a stretch of prairie bloomed with flowers in every shade imaginable. One piece even showed the property teeming with sheep, though Graham hadn’t mentioned any in his description.

And the last sketch—an exterior view of a modest green building—brought a pang of curiosity. It was clearly labeled as Mrs. Edward’s boarding house, Ciarán’s current residence in the bustling heart of New York City. From there, this man had imagined Graham’s ranch, written a letter, and filled its pages with earnest sincerity.

The thought warmed Graham. What did Ciarán look like? Was he an older bachelor like himself, or a widower looking for a fresh start? He hoped, at the very least, that he was kind. Kindness mattered more than anything else. And companionship, too—that’s what Graham had been searching for. A friend to share the long prairie days.

He turned to Oscar, still marveling at the letter. “You’re Irish, aren’t you?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, his tone wary. “I am. Why?”

Graham held out the envelope, pointing to the sender’s name. “Can you tell me how to pronounce this?”

Oscar squinted at the elegant script. “Ah, Ciarán. It’d be pronounced like ‘KEER-awn.’ Why do you ask?”

Graham’s grin turned downright radiant as he clutched the letter and sketches to his chest. “Because he’s my husband-to-be.”

Chapter Two

Graham couldn’t stop saying the name. Ciarán Ryan. Over and over, he tested it, tasting the rhythm of the syllables as they passed his lips. Ciarán Ryan. It felt foreign and familiar all at once, like a secret he had only just learned to speak aloud. He let the name roll off his tongue again. Ciarán Ryan. And then, in a burst of spontaneous joy, he tried a new combination, a new thought: Ciarán Shepherd. His grin spread wide as he imagined the sound of it, the two names entwined in something new and hopeful. He let out a sharp bark of laughter, an uncontained sound of giddiness that echoed in the quiet town square. He shook Oscar’s hand enthusiastically, his grip firm with gratitude.

"Thank you," Graham said, his voice full of sincerity. "Thank you for bringing me my letter."

Oscar, still bewildered, blinked at him in surprise. “It’s my job, Graham. But, you’re welcome all the same,” he replied, the usual air of detachment in his voice, though his eyes softened just a little at Graham's joy.

It might’ve been just another part of Oscar’s daily routine, another letter successfully delivered. But for Graham, this was something extraordinary. It was more than just a letter. It was an answer to the quiet plea he had whispered into the void, an answer that had crossed hundreds of miles of land and sea to reach him. Somewhere, in a place so distant and unknown to him, a man named Ciarán Ryan was sitting in a room with a blue door at Mrs. Edward’s boarding house in New York City.That man had read Graham’s words, seen the same longing in his heart, and had written back—not just with a polite reply, but with an eager yes. He would marry him. The words echoed in his mind like a prayer answered. Ciarán had read his letter, seen his offer, and had taken it. He would marry him. That was all that mattered. That was the miracle.

The letter had come from a man who wrote with such beautiful penmanship, whose words were full of longing and sincerity. And not only that—Ciarán had sent along drawings, little glimpses of his own imagination. Sketches of the prairie, flowers, and wide open skies. How could Graham ever have hoped for more? How could he ever have dreamed that someone would see his words, hear his heart, and respond so earnestly?

In the letter, Ciarán had written that he longed for a place where the city’s hustle and bustle didn’t overwhelm him, where he could find peace, contentment, and perhaps even a friend, a companion. And Graham—Graham could give him all of that. The prairie was ready for him. The flowers would bloom as promised. He would give Ciarán a place of quiet beauty, a home filled with the sounds of nature, and someone who would cherish him, someone who would take care of him and share in the days and nights ahead. He could give him everything he had longed for, everything he wanted.

Graham’s heart was light, giddy as a schoolboy in summer. He couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. Every step he took felt like a dance, every person he passed felt like a witness to the wonder inside him. He thanked Oscar once again, his voice still bubbling with excitement, and then he wandered aimlessly around town, barely noticing where his feet took him. His mind was spinning with thoughts, ideas, plans, and dreams.

There was so much to do. So much he hadn’t even realized he needed to do. He had to make the house ready. Makeit a home. Right now, it was nothing more than a place to sleep, a space where he stowed his weary body when he wasn’t working. But now, it was going to be something else entirely. It would have to be a home for two. More chairs, another set of plates, more glasses, and utensils. Perhaps a vase, to hold the flowers Ciarán loved so much. There was so much to think of—so many little details that suddenly seemed so important.

He had to go to the railroad station, too, and figure out how much it would cost to bring Ciarán here. He imagined him stepping off the train, his face bright and full of hope. He would be here. On Graham’s land. With him. Graham could already see the two of them, walking side by side across the prairie, talking, laughing, finding their rhythm together. He could feel the excitement rising in his chest again.

Then there was the church. He had to talk to the priest. They would need a ceremony, of course. A formal union to mark this moment. A bond that would carry them into the future. He needed to find witnesses too. Liam and Ronan, maybe. They would be the most obvious choice—if they could spare a moment from their own homestead. Perhaps Oscar, if he was willing. It would be a small affair, nothing too grand, but it would be a wedding all the same. The day when he would stand beside Ciarán, look him in the eyes, and say the words that would bind their lives together. It was all coming together, faster than Graham could keep up.

And then, of course, there was the letter. He had to reply to Ciarán. To officially propose. To tell him that, yes, he was as eager as Ciarán was to meet and marry. To tell him that everything would be ready, that Graham had already started preparing for him, for them. It was more than just a response. It was an invitation to the future.

Graham walked out of the post office, a smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t even married yet,and already his life had taken on a new energy. It was as though he had been sleepwalking through the years, moving from task to task without ever really feeling alive. But now—now he felt awake. His heart was full of purpose. Full of joy. And there was a spring in his step, as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Everything had changed in an instant. And it was only the beginning.

???

It was still early when Graham entered the general store, the bell on the door chiming softly as he pushed it open. The store was quiet, save for the owner, Mrs. Fournier, who was tidying up behind the counter, organizing a few items and putting things in their proper place. It was a small comfort for Graham, this rare peace before the bustle of the day began. The town wasn’t awake yet, and neither was the world at large. He could almost pretend for a moment that everything in it was still as he’d left it—calm, controlled, and certain.

Graham knew Mrs. Fournier only vaguely through their business dealings. She was a well-known figure, even in the neighboring towns, someone whose name carried weight, not just in Larkspur, but across the broader landscape of their shared history. Mrs. Fournier was not simply a shopkeeper; she was a woman of great resilience, a survivor of immense hardships who had set off on a journey from Louisiana years ago to find her family—people who had been torn apart, sold, or escaped the horrors of the past. And against the odds, she had found them. She had crossed state lines with a growing group of loved ones until they settled in Larkspur, where she established the general store. It wasn’t just a business—it was a testament to survival, determination, and the love of family.

Perhaps it was that history that had made her so at ease with people. Graham had always found her to be one of those rare individuals who was completely comfortable in her own skin, who exuded a quiet confidence, and whose sense of self made others feel at ease—or at least, not overly scrutinized. Graham, for all his taciturn nature, found solace in that. He was not a man for small talk, and Mrs. Fournier had long since learned to respect that. From the very first time they had met, she had greeted him warmly, acknowledged him with a smile, and then gotten straight to business. No questions, no pressure—just an efficient transaction, and that was all.

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