Page 10 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

The young man blushed so prettily, Graham thought, hauling the luggage onto the buggy. Ciarán wasn’t fragile—there was a sturdiness to him, a quiet strength—but he was smaller than Graham, as most people were. Still, there was something about him that struck Graham as vibrant and lovely, like the wildflowers he held so carefully in his lap.

Clearing his throat, Graham tried to explain himself. “I—uh. Was looking at your hands.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he winced internally. What a thing to say. “We need to go to the jeweler’s first,” he added quickly. “Didn’t want to buy a ring and not have it fit on the wedding day.”

“Oh, of course,” Ciarán replied, his tone light but still tinged with shyness.

The buggy wasn’t particularly spacious, and as they began the journey along the uneven dirt road, their legs brushed, their shoulders occasionally bumping. Graham’s awareness of Ciarán beside him felt magnified, each small contact setting his nerves on edge. He had longed to talk to Ciarán for months through their letters, imagining all the things he would say once they were finally together. Now, with the young man sitting so close, the words seemed to evaporate.

“Long trip for you,” Graham said at last, grasping for conversation.

“It was,” Ciarán replied, his face lighting up. “But I thought it was quite exciting! I spent most of my time looking out the window. Someone told me it might upset my stomach, but I couldn’t help it. Traveling from one part of the country to another—it was all so new to me! And I didn’t get sick, not even once. My appetite was fine.” He paused, his cheeks flushing slightly before he continued, “Oh, the food! The meals in the dining car were so fine. And the Harvey Houses! What a peculiar thing, having the same menu at every stop. I tried something different each time.”

His enthusiasm was infectious, and Graham found himself smiling. “Sounds like you had quite the experience.”

“I did!” Ciarán nodded, then hesitated. “And I still have the change you sent me.”

“The change?” Graham asked, frowning slightly. “You didn’t spend it all?”

“No! You were so generous to send the ticket money, and—well, I didn’t want to waste it. I brought sandwiches, too, so I didn’t always buy meals.” He glanced at Graham, his wide eyes full of concern. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—did you want me to—?”

“Don’t apologize,” Graham said firmly, his chest tightening. The thought of Ciarán rationing his food during thejourney made him feel both protective and guilty. He should have been clearer in his letters. “Did you eat today?”

Ciarán hesitated, then admitted softly, “No. I was just too excited about… the wedding. I couldn’t eat a thing.”

Relief flooded Graham as he remembered that Liam, ever practical, had ensured their wedding reception would include plenty of food. “There’ll be pie,” he said. “Afterwards.”

Ciarán’s shy smile returned, radiant as the wildflowers in his lap. “What kind?”

Graham’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “It’s a secret.”

???

Graham was no stranger to town now. Ever since he’d posted his ad in The Matrimonial Journal, he’d made it a habit to show up every Friday like clockwork. In the past two weeks, his visits had become even more frequent as he scrambled to prepare for the wedding. Every shopkeeper, merchant, and rancher in Larkspur knew his broad shoulders and quiet demeanor, but today, riding into town with a stranger seated beside him, he drew more than the usual nods and greetings.

The stranger wasn’t just anyone, after all. He was a handsome, well-dressed young man, and their arrival together sent whispers flying. People paused mid-step, staring openly as Graham hitched Ginger to a post outside the row of stores.

“This is a very pretty town, too,” Ciarán said, his gaze roaming over the neatly painted shopfronts, the flower-lined sidewalks, and the distant view of the surrounding hills. His expression was alight with curiosity and warmth, and when Graham helped him down from the buggy, he smiled. “Thank you, Graham.”

“It must be a lot different from New York,” Graham remarked, his voice low but steady.

“Yes, but that’s not a bad thing,” Ciarán replied, his smile softening into something thoughtful. “In the city, things are always so busy—noisy, crowded, fast-paced. This feels more like…” He hesitated, then added, “Like where I grew up. In Ireland.”

The comparison warmed Graham’s chest, though he didn’t let it show. The idea that Ciarán already felt at ease in Larkspur, that the town reminded him of home, pleased him more than he expected.

Their destination was the jeweler’s shop, a small building wedged between Mrs. Fournier’s general store and the tailor’s. Graham had passed it a hundred times before but had never gone inside. Until now, there had been no reason.

Inside, the shop was cozy, its walls lined with wooden shelves and glass cases displaying delicate chains, polished cufflinks, and rows of rings. Graham glanced around, vaguely aware of Ciarán exchanging greetings with the clerk.

“Hello there!” the woman behind the counter said brightly. “What can I help you with today? We’ve just gotten a new order of chains for pocket watches, if you’re interested.”

Ciarán smiled, polite but a little nervous. “I’m sure they’re lovely, but actually, we were looking for, um, wedding rings.”

“Oh, how exciting! When is the wedding?”

“Today,” Ciarán blurted, his cheeks coloring. He glanced at Graham for reassurance. “Um, right after we get our rings. Right, Graham?”

Graham, who had been examining a necklace of amethysts and pearls, looked up. “Right.”

“Right,” the clerk echoed, blinking but recovering quickly. “Well, let’s see what we can find for you. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

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