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Graham wasn’t much used to writing letters. The one he had sent to The Matrimonial Journal had been a mix of liquid courage and a sense of quiet desperation, and his reply to Ciarán had been fueled by giddy hope and excitement, but never had he attempted to convey himself as someone he wasn’t. His words had always been sincere, even if they were sometimes awkwardly put together. But writing a letter to Ciarán’s father—that was a different kind of challenge. This letter had to be perfect. It wasn’t just about exchanging pleasantries. This was about telling a man who had raised the love of his life that he, Graham Shepherd, would take care of him forever. It was about conveying to Rory Ryan that he loved his son deeply, that he would do anything to ensure Ciarán’s happiness, and that he knew how fortunate he was to have him as a husband.

Ciarán spoke of his father often, always with such admiration and affection that it made Graham’s heart swell. He adored Rory, that much was clear. But as much as Graham could feel Ciarán’s pride when he spoke about the man who raised him, there was also an underlying fear—a fear that Rory might not approve of him, that the love he shared with Ciarán might not be enough to win his father’s respect.

Graham desperately wanted Rory to like him. More than that, he wanted him to know how much Ciarán meant to him.

The morning sun filtered softly through the kitchen window as Graham sat at the table, nervously tapping his pen against the wood. Ciarán, for his part, hummed cheerfully at the stovetop, stirring a pot of blackberry jam. It was a batch he had been preparing with care, as he always did, and it was likely to be the last large one of the season. Summer was waning, and autumn would soon come, bringing with it the busyness of ranch work that they both cherished. But for now, the warmth of the kitchen and the sweet scent of simmering berries seemed to slow time itself.

Graham watched him, grateful for the peacefulness of the moment, but the letter weighed heavily on his mind. “What do I call him?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Ciarán turned, a bemused expression crossing his face. “Call him? Why, you can call him Rory, or father.”

Graham grimaced, feeling immediately awkward. Both options felt too familiar, too soon. He didn’t want to come off as presumptuous, but calling him “sir” felt distant and cold.

“You’re thinking too much,” Ciarán chided him with a lighthearted laugh, shaking his head. “Just write it however you feel.”

“I can’t say I’ve been accused of that before,” Graham replied, half-joking, though he still wasn’t sure what the right approach was.

“Oh, Graham, hush,” Ciarán said, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he returned to his task. But there was affection in his tone, a quiet understanding that made Graham’s heart flutter with reassurance. Ciarán was always good at grounding him when his mind raced.

With a deep breath, Graham picked up his pen and began to write. His words poured out, guided by a mixture of love and earnestness, and he wrote:

Dear Sir,

I must thank you for the watch. It is a very fine and beautiful thing, and I think it truly too great to be mine, but I swear to you that I will cherish this gift for the rest of my days.

I think the same of your son. Ciarán is the finest person I have ever met, and it is my great joy that he agreed to be my husband. I will do anything within my power to make sure that he is happy and provided for. He has told me that there is nothing he would like more than to have you here with us, so I have begun to build an addition to the house which would be your room, and I hope it is to your liking. The house I have built with my own two hands, and I think you shall be pleased with the work. As for the furnishings, I have left this to Ciarán, who knows your tastes and who takes much delight in making things more comfortable.

The construction is going well, and all should be ready for you by this coming winter. However, Sir, I must admit that Ciarán is extremely concerned about your well-being and fears that a winter crossing will be too difficult for you. At the same time, he has expressed his distress at the thought of you spending another season by yourself. He will not say outright that he would like you here as soon as possible, but I enclose the money necessary for your passage and leave it to your discretion as to when you will leave. Whether winter or spring, you will be welcomed here by your loving and devoted son, as well as your son-in-law,

Graham Shepherd.

Graham stared at the letter for a moment, his heart pounding with the weight of his words. He had tried to capture the essence of how he felt for Ciarán, how much he wanted Rory to feel comfortable in their home, how eager he was to make a space for him as part of their lives.

“I think I’m done,” Graham said, letting out a small sigh of relief.

Ciarán glanced over, his expression softening as he wiped his hands on a towel. “Do you want me to read over it?”

“No!” Graham said quickly, his face flushing slightly. “No, sweetheart. I had to speak to him—son-in-law to father-in-law.”

Ciarán raised an eyebrow, a playful gleam in his eye. “I see. Well, finish up with your letter, and come here and try this jam.” He blew at a spoonful of jam before taking a sip, and when he pulled the spoon away, it left his lips a deep purple. “Mmm, it’s getting there.”

Graham carefully folded the letter, sealing it in an envelope before walking over to Ciarán. He caught the spoonful of jam that Ciarán offered him, but instead of tasting it, he leaned in and kissed him, tasting the sweetness of blackberry jam still lingering on his lips. The moment was warm, intimate, and sweet—a reminder of the quiet love they shared.

“Tastes just fine to me,” Graham said, his voice playful as Ciarán tried to swat him with the spoon.

“Hey!” Ciarán laughed, but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Save that for later, Mr. Shepherd. I’ve got to perfect this recipe in time for the fair.”

Graham chuckled, stepping back as Ciarán resumed his work. The annual Larkspur fair was always an event to look forward to—there would be games, contests, and the highly anticipated cooking competitions. Two of Graham’s cows had won blue ribbons in previous years, and he was determined to add a third this time. Ciarán was also planning to enter a jar of his famous blackberry jam into the judging, and Graham could already tell it was going to be a hit.

“You’re hard at work,” Graham teased. “Got to take my pleasure when I can.”

Ciarán tolerated another kiss before gently pushing him away. “You can take me however you want when we go to bed,” he said, grinning.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Graham replied, his heart light with affection..

◆◆◆

He decided to take Roisin for a walk around the ranch, a quiet patrol of the perimeter before he called it a night. The evening air was crisp, the last light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the fields. Roisin trotted happily at his side, his tail wagging in that way it always did when he was content, which was almost always. As they strolled, Graham’s thoughts wandered in a different direction—reflecting on how much his and Ciarán’s relationship had changed in the months since they’d married. It felt as if they’d stepped into a new life, one built on trust, love, and a comfort with each other that he hadn’t known was possible.

There had been a time when the simple act of holding hands had been enough to make them both blush. He recalled the awkwardness of those early days—the stolen glances, the bashful touches, the shared silences filled with unsaid words. They’d stumbled their way through those first few months, learning each other’s rhythms, finding their way. There had been misunderstandings, missed moments, but also laughter, tenderness, and patience. They’d spent more than a few nights tangled in the sheets, unsure of what they were doing but equally sure that they wanted to do it together.

Now, the intimacy between them felt natural, like breathing. Their touches were no longer hesitant but firm, full of assurance, of knowing. They didn’t need to fumble with their words or wonder if the other felt the same way. They simply knew. The easy affection they shared had transformed into a deeper kind of love, one that was as comfortable as it was passionate. Graham grinned as he remembered the teasing that had happened just that morning in the kitchen, how Ciarán had playfully swatted him with the spoon after he’d kissed him, jam still on his lips. Once, they would have been embarrassed by such displays, but now, it was second nature. They were at ease with each other, even when the moments felt silly.

And then there was the physical side of their relationship. At first, the idea of being so intimately connected with another person had been daunting. They’d both been unsure of how to navigate those waters, not just physically but emotionally. But now, they had become so attuned to each other’s bodies that they moved together with a kind of effortless rhythm. They made love with the same ease with which they shared their thoughts or their smiles. It had gone from tentative to urgent, from quiet to loud, and sometimes, there were no rules—just the spark of desire and the comfort of knowing they were wanted.

Before Ciarán, Graham had a ranch. It was a simple life, one of hard work and solitude. He grew crops, raised livestock, and tended to the land with a steady hand. He’d been self-sufficient, driven by the need to provide for himself and for the small community he was a part of. He sold his goods in town, made enough money to live comfortably, and by the standards of most, he was considered prosperous. But prosperity, he realized now, had always been an empty word until Ciarán entered his life. Yes, he had a ranch, but he had no one to share it with. He had work, but no one to laugh with at the end of the day. He had the occasional visit from a friend or neighbor, but no one who stayed. It was a life full of tasks, but devoid of the warmth of companionship.

Now, Graham had everything he could have ever hoped for and more. He had friends—people who invited him to their homes for tea and long conversations, people who cared about him and his well-being. He had Roisin, the loyal guard dog who was as much a companion as he was a protector. He spent more time lounging by the fire or nestled into Graham’s lap than he did on actual patrol, but that was fine by him. And then there was the house. A house full of trinkets, knick-knacks, and the chaotic beauty of two people building a life together. There were jars of blackberry jam lining the shelves, a testament to the work they’d done together, the simple joys they’d found in making something from the fruits of their labor. The house was no longer just a building—it was home. It was their home.

And of course, there was Ciarán. Graham thought of his husband now, curled up in their shared bed, snoring peacefully, always with that half-smile on his face when Graham shook him awake in the mornings. Ciarán, who loved him with a depth he’d never thought possible, who made him feel seen and wanted every single day. Ciarán, who had given him a kind of love that had filled every empty space in his heart. No more loneliness. No more wishing for something more. He had it all now. The way Ciarán smiled at him, the way he spoke his name, the way they fit together so seamlessly, made Graham feel like the luckiest man alive.

“That’s prosperity,” Graham mused softly as he absently rubbed Roisin’s ears, his warm body pressing close to his side as they continued their walk. The last rays of sunlight cast a golden glow over the fields, the grass swaying gently in the breeze. In the distance, the outlines of the barn and the house stood silhouetted against the horizon. He didn’t need riches or fame. He didn’t need anything beyond this—this life they had built together.

His gaze drifted back toward the house, and he thought of Ciarán, waiting for him inside. The love they shared was enough to fill every room, every corner, every moment of their lives. He could still remember how it had felt to be a solitary rancher, alone with nothing but his thoughts and his work. But now, with Ciarán by his side, he knew he was truly prosperous.

And tomorrow, they’d wake up together, ready to face whatever the day had in store, because with Ciarán by his side, Graham knew there was nothing he couldn’t handle.

As Roisin gave a contented bark and wagged his tail, Graham smiled, the weight of his thoughts lightened by the simple truth of his life now. He wasn’t just a man with a ranch. He was a man who was loved, who loved in return, and who had found a kind of peace he never thought he would have. He had everything he needed.

That, Graham thought, was prosperity.

◆◆◆

Their days were filled with work. Caring for the animals, tending to the crops, building an addition to the house. Ciarán took to construction with great enthusiasm—he wanted his father’s room to be absolutely perfect. Graham took to working alongside Ciarán on the project with similar enthusiasm, not only for the thought of how happy Ciarán would be when the room was finished and furnished, but also because Ciarán often took his shirt off while they worked. His husband made quite the sight, surrounded by sunlight, sweat pouring down his freckled chest, helping Graham hammer down the floor and put up the walls.

“You sure you never done this before?” Graham asked one afternoon as he brought Ciarán a bucket of fresh water from the well.

Ciarán dipped a tin cup in it and drank gratefully. Graham watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Thank you, Graham. And no, never. I had my sewing, and my secretarial training, but never…” He trailed off.

“Must just take naturally to this kind of work,” Graham said, smiling.

“Maybe I just have a good teacher,” Ciarán said. He dipped the tin cup into the bucket again and poured the water over his head. As he gave his damp curls a shake, water droplets rolled down to his stomach.

Graham grunted. “Huh.” Then he went to his knees and pressed his tongue to Ciarán’s skin, intent on licking up all the sweat and dust and water from his belly.

Ciarán shrieked—he was ticklish—and his laughter quickly became a scandalized cry. “Not here! Not here, Graham! Take me to bed—”

“All right.” Graham hauled him up and carried him back to their room, and dutifully took his husband to bed.

◆◆◆

With the arrival of autumn—marked by the cooler, crisper breeze, the leaves turning vibrant shades of yellow, red, and orange—came Larkspur’s annual fair. It was one of the town's most anticipated events, a joyous celebration that bridged the seasons. A goodbye to summer’s lazy days and a warm welcome to the busy autumn months. It was a time for the whole community to gather together, before the chill of winter descended, to talk, to play, to eat, and to show off their year’s hard work.

Graham and Ciarán walked through the bustling town square, both of them soaking in the festive atmosphere. The streets were alive with colorful pennant flags fluttering in the wind, hanging from buildings and stretching from lamppost to lamppost. Flowerpots, overflowing with autumn blooms, lined the sidewalks, their bright colors adding to the vibrancy of the day. Everywhere they went, confetti rained down, thrown gleefully by children and adults alike, a symbol of the pure joy everyone felt. From the direction of the church, they could hear a lively band playing—though their enthusiasm outstripped their skill, the music had a charm all its own, adding to the day’s festivities.

They meandered from one vendor to another, often stopping to chat or buy something from the local sellers. They indulged in apple fritters, hot and sugary, their hands sticky with sweet glaze. They shared a paper cone of buttery popcorn, and enjoyed a small portion of tangy potato salad, the flavors dancing on their tongues. At one stall, Ciarán spotted a flower crown stall, and after a bit of bargaining, he bought them both crowns—one for each, made from delicate wildflowers and woven with dark green and blue ribbons. He laughed as they placed the crowns on each other’s heads, the simple gesture of wearing something so cheerful adding to the sense of joy.

A few stalls down, someone was selling handmade toys—simple wooden animals, dolls made from soft fabrics, and knitted creatures that looked like they were meant for cuddling. Ciarán’s eyes immediately landed on a patchwork puppy, stitched together from colorful scraps of fabric. Without hesitation, he bought it for Roisin, who had been a constant companion through thick and thin. Roisin would love it, he knew—he was always so gentle with the little things they gave him, his tail wagging in pure joy at any new toy.

They spent the rest of the afternoon playing carnival games, testing their luck and skill. They played ring toss and cornhole, and even entered their guesses for how many gumdrops were in a jar. Graham figured 150 was a nice, round number, but Ciarán thought a slightly higher estimate—174—might stand a better chance, so he entered it into the ballot box.

There was plenty of time before the main events—the cattle show and the jam and preserve judging—so they shared a sandwich under the shade of a nearby tree and sipped on apple cider, watching the flow of people around them. They waved at friends, exchanged pleasantries, and enjoyed the lively atmosphere of the fair.

Eventually, they parted ways in the middle of town—Graham needing to return to the animal shows at the corral and Ciarán heading toward the food-tasting tents beneath the church.

“I’ll come find you afterward,” Graham promised, giving his husband a quick kiss. “I know you’ll do well.”

“Good luck, Graham,” Ciarán said with a smile, his voice full of encouragement, before dashing off toward the tents with his jar of blackberry jam in hand.

Graham didn’t mind the wait. The cows were one of the last categories to be judged, but he enjoyed watching the competition, studying the other entrants, seeing what qualities they prized in their livestock. It wasn’t just about the ribbons—it was about business, too. He’d been thinking of expanding his herd with a stud, and maybe even adding a few ducks. If the wait got too long, he could always rest in the stable with his animals until it was time for them to show off their skills.

Mr. and Mrs. Duncan were there, showcasing their two best horses—the very ones that had been stolen by Lachapelle and which Graham, Ciarán, and others had helped retrieve. The horses performed flawlessly, their movements synchronized to the point that it seemed like a single, well-oiled machine. The pair of them worked together seamlessly, guiding the horses around the pen, and when they finished their routine, the crowd erupted in applause. It was a well-deserved tribute to the skill and care that had gone into raising those horses.

It was no surprise that Liam and Ronan’s sheep won first prize in their category. Graham congratulated Liam on both his recovery and his success with his ewe. “Where’s Ronan?” he asked.

Liam grinned. “Ah, he’s entered a chocolate cake in the baking contest. They’re probably judging it under the tents now.”

“Ciarán’s over there, too,” Graham said. “He entered his blackberry jam.”

“Good luck to him—those old timers know how to make a preserve,” Liam chuckled.

“Thanks. I hope Ronan does well, too. Congratulations again,” Graham said, giving the ewe a pat on the head as she nudged him affectionately with her nose.

Soon it was time for the cattle show, and Graham led his cow—an elegant Shorthorn with a coat of white and red spots—into the arena. The judges inspected the animals with professional detachment, but Graham could see that none of the other cows quite compared to his. She had a regal bearing, intelligent dark eyes, and a temperament that made her easy to handle. As the other animals were judged, Graham watched them closely, taking mental notes of the quality of the stock and the care their owners put into them.

When the judges awarded his cow first place, he kept his expression schooled, though he couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips. It wouldn’t do to gloat, not in front of the crowd, but he couldn’t help but feel proud. “Good girl,” he murmured to his cow, and she preened as though she knew exactly how lovely she looked with her shiny coat and blue ribbon draped around her neck.

With his cow left to rest, Graham went to find Ciarán. He walked under the tents where the food entries were laid out—cakes, pies, cookies, candies, jams, jellies, and preserves in every conceivable flavor. Graham couldn’t resist stopping to marvel at the delicacies—meringues, shortbread, caramels, and all kinds of colorful desserts. He could see the happy faces of those sampling bits and pieces of the treats, and it filled him with a warmth that seemed to radiate from the heart of the fair.

There, near the edge of the tent, Graham spotted Ronan, holding a platter that displayed a nearly empty chocolate cake. The judges had clearly liked it, as the top of the cake was missing most of its layers, leaving only a small portion behind. The rest of the cake was adorned with chocolate frosting, shavings, and brandied cherries, and pinned to the top was a blue ribbon.

“Look at that!” Graham said, stepping closer. “Two blue ribbons for you and Liam to take home. Your sheep won the show.”

Ronan grinned, his face lighting up with pride. “Ar fheabhas,” he said. “Graham, is buaiteoir é d'fhear céile freisin.”

“I knew he would!” Ciarán beamed, before adding, “It’s a lovely cake. You deserve it!”

Before long, Ciarán found his way to Graham’s side, holding his jar of blackberry jam in hand. “Second place,” he said, a little shyly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Second place? That’s amazing!” Graham kissed him, feeling the thrill of the day’s accomplishments. “I knew you’d do great. You’re the best in town.”

Ciarán chuckled. “Well, second best. Mrs. Alvarez’s green pepper jelly took first place.”

“Mrs. Alvarez has been sweeping the fair for years,” Graham said with a smile. “But second place is incredible, and I’m so proud of you. First in my book, though.”

Ciarán smiled and held up his jar. “We still have half of this jar. And they gave me a plate of biscuits as part of my prize!”

“Three dollars, too. Not bad at all,” Graham said, laughing.

As they made their way toward the vendors, Ciarán spotted something that made his eyes light up. “Oh, Graham, look! We can have our portrait taken!”

A photographer had set up a booth in the middle of town, with a view of the fair in the background. The hustle and bustle of the fair’s activities—the tents, the colorful decorations, the people—would all be captured in the shot.

Graham smiled, taking Ciarán’s hand. “Let’s go.”

They waited their turn, patiently watching a small family and a few young couples before it was their turn. When they finally stepped up, the photographer adjusted her camera and commented, “Quite tall, sir.”

“Should I sit?” Graham asked, trying to make himself more comfortable, though he knew he would tower over Ciarán even sitting down.

“No, no, I can fit you both in just fine,” the photographer said, a smile in her voice.

Ciarán had gone to set down his jar, but Graham stopped him. “Keep it in the photo, sweetheart.”

Ciarán looked at him in confusion. “What?”

“Hold it like this,” Graham said gently, taking the jar and turning it so that the red ribbon on top was visible to the camera. “So everyone can see it.”

Ciarán blushed. “It’s silly.”

Graham smiled, wishing the camera could capture the beautiful shade of pink on Ciarán’s cheeks. “It’s not silly. I’m proud of you, and I want everyone to see it. We had a good day today, didn’t we?”

Ciarán smiled, looking down at the jar, then back up at Graham. “We did.”

◆◆◆

Two days after the fair, Oscar arrived at the ranch with a small cart, the sound of the horse's hooves echoing across the quiet land. He greeted Graham with a wide smile and handed over the prize—a bag of feed, the one Graham had won for his cattle’s victory—along with a letter addressed to Ciarán. Tucked carefully in his hands was the photograph of them from the fair, now developed and ready to be treasured.

Graham took the photo carefully from Oscar’s hands, his heart swelling with emotion as he looked down at the image. It was a perfect capture of the day, a reminder of how far they had come and how much love and joy they shared. There, standing side by side, were him and Ciarán, both wearing the flower crowns they had made for each other. Graham’s hand rested lightly on Ciarán’s shoulder, a gentle, protective gesture that spoke of their bond. Ciarán’s hands were clasped around the jar of blackberry jam, the red ribbon tied around it still clearly visible. They both wore smiles that could light up the world, so filled with contentment and shared happiness. Him and his husband.

Graham felt his throat tighten, and he had to look away for a moment, his eyes welling with tears. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure, but the overwhelming sense of joy and pride wouldn’t quite leave him. He cleared his throat, trying to mask the emotion, and turned back to Ciarán. “What’s that, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse, his attempt at casualness failing.

Ciarán had already started to read the letter in his hands, his expression quickly shifting to one of pure excitement. His voice shook with the energy of the news he had just read. “A letter from my father,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “He says he’ll be here in December! He’s coming to visit, Graham! We have to get ready! His room still isn’t finished, and he says he’ll send some of his things to us, and we need to make space for them, and—”

Graham’s heart gave a flutter at the thought of Ciarán’s father coming to stay. It was a big step, a sign of the deepening connection between their two families. But he could see how overwhelmed Ciarán was getting, the flurry of thoughts and preparations starting to pull him in all directions. Graham placed a calming hand on his husband’s arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “We have plenty of time, sweetheart,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “It’ll get done.”

Ciarán paused, a deep breath escaping his lips, and his shoulders seemed to relax under Graham’s touch. He nodded slowly, allowing himself to be comforted by the certainty in his husband’s voice. “Yes, you’re right,” he said, a little quieter, more grounded now. “You’re right.”

With a gentle smile, Graham cupped Ciarán’s face, leaning in to kiss his cheek. The warmth and tenderness of the moment enveloped them, and for a brief instant, everything felt perfect. Of course it would get done. They had more than a month to prepare for his father’s visit. Time would stretch just long enough for all the little details to be arranged—Rory Ryan’s room would be ready, his things would find their place in their home, and everything would be in order. When Ciarán’s father arrived in December, Graham knew they would both be there to greet him, to welcome him into the home they had built together. A warm, loving home, one that would now be shared with a new member of their family.

And then, when the day came, the three of them would make their way back to the ranch. Graham could already picture it—the moment when they would all settle together under the same roof. It was the next step in this beautiful journey they had embarked on, a journey that was still unfolding with each passing day. No matter the challenges that lay ahead, they would face them together, hand in hand, as a family.