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The blackberry jam wasn’t just delicious; it was extraordinary. Graham knew this for a fact because he’d eaten more than his fair share during the past week. The blackberries came from wild brambles he had transplanted to the ranch years ago, giving them a proper place to thrive. With careful pruning and attention, the bushes now produced plump, sweet berries in abundance, their deep purple hues glistening in the sun. They were perfect for eating fresh, baking into pies, or—most importantly—making jam.

The house had smelled divine when Ciarán was at work in the kitchen, the air thick with the rich, fruity aroma as pots of bubbling jam simmered on the stove. The jars themselves were as delightful as their contents: each one meticulously prepared and adorned by Ciarán’s careful hands. A square of purple cloth covered each lid, fastened neatly with a bow of dark green ribbon. Together, the jars were a small treasure trove of sweetness, each one prepared with love and precision. Graham was confident they’d fetch a fine price at the general store, but he knew Ciarán wasn’t so sure.

On their way to town, Ciarán’s nerves were palpable. He chattered anxiously as they bumped along the dirt road, casting frequent glances into the back of the cart to check on their crate of goods. Every few minutes, he turned to inspect the jars, the small wheels of cheese, and the eggs, making sure everything was just as it should be.

“But blackberries are everywhere,” Ciarán fretted, chewing his bottom lip. “Anyone can just pick some and make their own jam.”

“That’s true,” Graham replied calmly, “but they haven’t. You have.”

Ciarán sighed, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. “What if people don’t like it?”

“They will,” Graham said with quiet certainty. “It’s not to everyone’s taste, sure, but you’ve made something good. People will like it.”

Ciarán wasn’t convinced. “Oh, but I’ve never sold anything before. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Graham chuckled softly. “I manage, don’t I? And I’m not much of a talker.”

Ciarán turned to him with an earnest expression. “You do yourself a disservice, Graham. You have such a quiet, confident air. When you speak, it’s... authoritative.” A faint blush colored his cheeks. “It’s very admirable. And attractive.”

Normally, Graham would have puffed up with pride at the compliment, but today he sensed something else in Ciarán’s tone—a hint of self-doubt. That wouldn’t do.

“Maybe,” Graham said thoughtfully. “But you’ve got something better. You’ve got charm. You talk, and people like you. That’s not something I’ve got, but you do.”

Ciarán smiled, though he still seemed a bit nervous. “Thank you, Graham.”

“You’re welcome.”

The town was alive with summer activity by the time they arrived. Children darted through the streets, their laughter ringing out like bells, while townsfolk milled about, running errands or stopping to chat in small groups. A couple sat outside the restaurant with their young daughters, sipping lemonade. The scene was bright and cheerful, a picture of everyday life.

Graham pulled the cart to a stop near the general store and turned to his husband. “I’m going to find a trough for the horses,” he said.

Ciarán nodded, though his complexion was a little pale. “Okay. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

“You sure?”

Ciarán rolled his eyes affectionately. “Graham, it’s barely a stroll.”

True enough—the store was just a short distance away. Even so, Graham felt a pang of hesitation. “Still,” he mumbled, reluctant to let Ciarán go on his own.

His husband leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be fine,” he said firmly.

As Graham handed him the crate of goods, he paused. “Sweetheart?”

“Yes?”

“You’ll do just fine.”

Ciarán’s lips quirked into a small, grateful smile before setting in a determined line. “I’m going to sell these jams!” The jars clinked softly as he adjusted the crate in his arms.

“I know you will,” Graham replied, his voice steady and reassuring. “Just come get me when you’re done.”

He watched as Ciarán marched down the street, his back straight and his chin held high, though Graham could tell he was still nervous. When Ciarán reached the steps of the general store, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder to find Graham.

Graham waved, offering a small smile of encouragement.

Ciarán nodded, then squared his shoulders and strode through the door. Graham sat back in the cart, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips as he watched the door swing shut behind his husband.

◆◆◆

Once the horses were watered and resting, Graham decided to take a leisurely walk around town. The streets bustled with life on this warm summer’s day, the hum of conversation and the distant peals of children’s laughter creating a pleasant backdrop. As he strolled, a thought settled over him like the warm sunlight: he was just like any other man waiting for his spouse.

The idea filled him with a quiet, satisfying pride. When Ciarán finished his business, they might visit the restaurant and order lemonade, like the family they’d seen earlier. Or perhaps they’d head straight home to celebrate Ciarán’s first foray into Larkspur’s market. Both were equally fine options. Either way, he would spend the day with his husband, and that was all Graham truly cared about.

Those thoughts warmed him, accompanying him as he wandered through the streets, nodding at shopkeepers cleaning their storefronts and exchanging polite greetings with townsfolk. For a man who lived mostly with animals and the quiet rhythm of the ranch, this was a fine change of pace. People-watching had a charm of its own, and the town seemed alive with little stories playing out on every corner. A man haggled over the price of grain, two women shared conspiratorial whispers outside the bakery, and a pair of boys darted between wagons, a stolen loaf of bread clutched between them.

It was a fine time—until he crossed paths with Jean Lachapelle.

The man was impossible to miss, with his gaudy fashion and smug demeanor. Today, he wore a striped waistcoat with silver buttons, a gold pocket watch dangling ostentatiously from a chain, and boots polished to an absurd sheen. But no matter how often Lachapelle changed his attire, his expression never shifted: that sneer, etched permanently onto his face, like he was the only rooster in a yard full of hens.

“Well, well,” Lachapelle drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. “It’s been a while since you graced us with your presence, Shepherd.”

Graham’s mood soured instantly. Lachapelle’s voice could curdle milk, and it had certainly ruined his walk. Resisting the urge to spit at the man’s polished boots, Graham replied curtly, “Been busy. You might’ve heard.”

“Oh, the whole town knows,” Lachapelle said, his tone laced with faux sympathy. “But I hear your neighbor’s recovered. Sprightly as ever.”

“That’s right,” Graham said, keeping his tone even.

“I also heard he couldn’t identify the thief.”

Graham’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

Lachapelle’s too-casual tone grated on Graham’s nerves as he continued, “Was it that he didn’t see the thief, or that he couldn’t remember?”

Graham clenched his jaw. “Go ask the sheriff if you’re so interested.”

Lachapelle didn’t blink. “Here I am trying to have a civil conversation, and you’re being extremely brusque. I’d call it rude if I didn’t already know you were lacking in social graces.”

Graham’s temper flared. “You’ve got a lot of nerve to talk about social graces after what you tried to pull with my husband.”

The memory of that day still burned in Graham’s mind. Lachapelle had come to the ranch while Graham was away, bearing flowers and some pretense of concern. Whatever words he’d exchanged with Ciarán had left his husband visibly shaken, and that was something Graham couldn’t forgive.

“Why, all I did was inquire about your neighbor’s health,” Lachapelle said, feigning innocence. “And ask a few questions about your home.”

Graham growled, “Stay away from him.”

Lachapelle smirked. “Possessive, aren’t you? Where is he now? I’d have thought you’d keep him on a tight leash. But I suppose he’s easier to train than a dog. He almost speaks English.”

The insult hit like a spark to dry tinder. Before Graham could think, his hands shot out, grabbing Lachapelle by the waistcoat and slamming him against the nearest wall. The man’s eyes widened in shock. For years, Graham had tolerated Lachapelle’s barbs with little more than a grunt or glare, but this was different. This wasn’t about him—this was about Ciarán. And no one insulted his husband.

“What are you two doing? By God, don’t I have enough to deal with without grown men squabbling in the street?”

The doctor’s sharp voice cut through the moment like a whip. She marched out of her office, her expression stern. “Mr. Shepherd! Let him go!”

Snarling, Graham hesitated for a moment before he released Lachapelle, though his fists itched to land at least one punch.

“It’s a good thing you were here to witness this,” Lachapelle said, his voice dripping with indignation. “He attacked me—”

“Don’t think I didn’t hear what you said, Mr. Lachapelle,” the doctor interrupted. “You’d best run back to your father. How is it you’re always surprised when someone gets tired of your insults? Your father’s hired hands might tolerate your abuse, but the world is much larger than the baron’s property. You’d do well to remember that. Now, kindly leave my front steps, both of you. You’re scaring my patients.”

Lachapelle glared at Graham with a venomous look but dusted himself off and stalked away under the doctor’s watchful eye.

Graham turned to her, his anger cooling. “I’m sorry, doctor.”

She sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “Everyone’s on edge lately. This thief has got people rattled, and the summer heat doesn’t help. Just be careful, Mr. Shepherd. There’s enough trouble in town without you making more.”

“I don’t intend to,” Graham said firmly.

She gave him a long look before nodding and heading back inside. Graham stood there for a moment, rolling his shoulders and exhaling slowly. Trouble, indeed. He’d need to find Ciarán soon—being with his husband always had a way of reminding Graham what really mattered.

◆◆◆

He returned to the horses chastened and angry with himself. Angry that he’d given in to his temper and caused a scene in the middle of town, and angry that he hadn’t been quick enough to land a single punch on Lachapelle before the doctor intervened.

Graham cupped his hands and dipped them into the water trough. He splashed his face, the cool water dripping into his beard and running down his neck. Ginger and Bó sniffed at him, their ears flicking in what felt like shared disapproval of his behavior. He gave the horses a sheepish look. "All right, I know. You’re better at keeping your head than I am."

As he straightened, water still dripping from his beard, he noticed a small cluster of townspeople lingering nearby. Their wary glances and muted muttering only added to his frustration.

“Morning,” Graham said curtly.

The group dispersed quickly, though their whispers carried faintly on the breeze. He shook his head and turned back to the trough, swiping water over his face one last time before Ginger tried to dunk her head into it.

“Sir, that’s for the animals.”

Graham whirled around, his cheeks flushing at the sound of Ciarán’s teasing voice. His husband stood a few feet away, hands folded behind his back, his expression alight with amusement.

“I was just—” Graham started, fumbling for an excuse.

Ciarán laughed, his smile as warm as the summer sun. “It’s okay, Graham. I’m only teasing. It is rather warm today, isn’t it?”

The sound of Ciarán’s laughter chased away the last of Graham’s irritation. His husband looked much more at ease now, a sharp contrast to the nervous energy he’d carried earlier that morning. “Did it go well, then?” Graham asked, straightening.

Ciarán’s grin widened as he proudly held out a slip of paper. “See for yourself.”

Graham took the receipt, his eyes scanning over Mrs. Fournier’s familiar looping script:

● 2 dz. eggs - $0.60

● 5 lbs. farmer’s cheese - $0.75

● 5 jars blackberry jam - $1.50

“Look at that!” Graham exclaimed, his grin broad. “Didn’t I tell you everything would be just fine?”

Ciarán flushed slightly under the praise. “You did.”

“Hold on, though,” Graham said, frowning playfully. “Didn’t we have six jars of jam?”

Ciarán’s cheeks deepened in color. “Oh, I gave one to Mrs. Fournier as a gift. Just a little thank-you for all she’s done for us—the mattress especially. And, well, I thought perhaps a sample might encourage future sales.”

Graham chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you? I’m real proud of you.”

Ciarán beamed, the sight making Graham’s chest swell. He slipped an arm around his husband’s waist and kissed him gently. Ciarán laughed, his face glowing pink. “It’s a nice little amount, isn’t it? What should we spend it on?”

The question made Graham pause. He didn’t want Ciarán to think he had to earn his place in their home—it was as much his as it was Graham’s. But he also knew that Ciarán took pride in contributing, and ignoring that would only hurt him. After a moment’s thought, he said, “We could put some toward a fresh coat of paint for the house. Make it look real nice.”

Ciarán nodded enthusiastically. “I think that’s a wonderful idea!”

“It’s an idea,” Graham said with a shrug, giving Ciarán a squeeze. “But it’s your sale, so you ought to keep some for yourself.”

“Oh, I—” Ciarán hesitated, looking uncertain. “Are you sure, Graham?”

“Of course I’m sure. Isn’t there something you’ve been wanting? Something just for you?”

“Well,” Ciarán began, nibbling at his lower lip—a tell Graham knew well. “Yes, there is something I’ve been thinking about. But I think it might be best to discuss it later. At home.”

That piqued Graham’s curiosity, but he simply nodded. “All right. We’ll talk when we get back.”

As he tried to puzzle out what Ciarán might have in mind—something in the catalog at Mrs. Fournier’s store, maybe? Or a piece of furniture?—he held out his arm. “Come on. Let’s go to the restaurant and get something to eat. I’ve been wanting a glass of lemonade.”

Ciarán slipped his arm through Graham’s, his earlier nervousness nowhere in sight. Together, they started toward the restaurant, the warm sun overhead and a quiet satisfaction settling between them.