Page 7

There was a family near town that bred horses—Nathan and Annie Duncan. Nathan had worked on the railroads, and Annie had once been a trail guide for families heading west, a life that had seen her traverse the roughest parts of the country before meeting Nathan in California. After their marriage, they decided to leave the city life behind, bought land in Larkspur, and started raising horses. They were proud of their business and often claimed that theirs were the best horses in the state. Graham couldn’t speak to that. It seemed a little absurd to claim they were the best, especially when they were the only ones he’d ever bought horses from. But he could certainly speak to the quality of their stock, especially Ginger, the mare they had sold him years ago. She had turned out to be everything he’d ever wanted in a horse. A reliable partner. The best horse he’d ever had. And if anyone asked, he’d tell them so.

The horses in the nearby pasture weren’t much interested in Graham or Ginger. They glanced up briefly as they approached, stared curiously, then returned to grazing in the grass as if they saw this sort of thing every day. Which, to be fair, they probably did. People came and went constantly, making their way to the Duncan ranch to buy, sell, or do business of one sort or another.

When Graham knocked on the front door of the Duncan home, he was met with a greeting like no other he’d received in his years of dealing with people.

“Oh, goddamn—Wasn’t I clear enough? How about you fuck right off?”

Taken aback, Graham stood frozen for a moment, but quickly recovered. “I will, soon as I buy a horse off you, Mrs. Duncan.”

There was a beat of silence, then a sudden pause in the words that came next. “That you, Shepherd?”

“Yep. It’s me, ma’am.”

The door swung open with a squeal of old hinges, revealing Annie Duncan standing there, tall, broad-shouldered, and as redheaded as a sunrise, her face framed by a mass of fiery curls. Her skin, sun-darkened and scarred from her days as a trail guide, was tough, but her expression softened almost immediately when she saw who it was.

“Sorry about that,” she said, almost sheepishly. “Thought you might be the Lachapelle kid again.” She shook her head, clearly frustrated. “He was here earlier today, trying to get me to sell him some of my animals. You should’ve heard the price he was offering. Would’ve made you piss your pants laughing.”

Graham grunted, not sure whether to feel more annoyed by the Lachapelles’ persistent business tactics or to find it amusing. “Yeah, he and his father came around a while back, doing the same thing. Wanted my prize cows. Told them to fuck off, too.”

Annie spit on the ground, the sharpness of the action softening her irritation. “They sure do have a talent for courting words like that.” Then, her gaze shifted to Ginger, who stood patiently by Graham’s side. “Anyway, you said you wanted to buy a horse? Something wrong with your mare?”

Graham shook his head. “No, Ginger’s just fine. It’s just that, well, I’ve got myself a new husband, and we might be coming into town more often now. Ginger likes to ride, but she might get a little tired of dragging the cart and both of us around all the time. And it’d be good if we both had a horse to get around the ranch.”

Annie raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You got married? When?”

Graham smiled softly. “Nine days ago, now.”

“Well, congratulations.” Annie’s tone was warm, but the twinkle in her eye was unmistakable. “Let’s see if I can’t find you a horse, then.”

As they walked toward the stables, Graham explained what he needed. “I need something strong enough for farm work, but not too large. And it’s got to have a gentle temperament. My husband doesn’t know how to ride yet, but he wants to learn. I’ll be giving him lessons, so the horse needs to be patient.”

The mention of Ciarán’s lack of riding experience seemed to take Annie by surprise. “He doesn’t know how to ride? How’s he going to work on the ranch?”

Graham felt his chest tighten, as if his protective instincts were rising to the surface. “I’ll teach him,” he said firmly. “He wants to learn. He’s been a big help already.”

Annie blinked, a moment of understanding dawning in her eyes. “Easy now, son. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just surprised, is all. I don’t know many people around here who don’t know how to ride a horse.”

Graham shrugged. “He was living in New York. I figure you can just walk wherever you need to go there.”

Annie took a thoughtful moment, letting the information sink in. Then she nodded, impressed. “He came all the way from New York? Damn. He must’ve been real sweet on you, huh?”

Graham’s face flushed red again, and he could feel the heat rising to his neck. It seemed that everyone in town had a way of making him blush these days. He cleared his throat, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. “Well, I don’t know about that,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling all sorts of self-conscious.

Annie chuckled. “I think I know the feeling. Anyway, let’s see what we’ve got for you.”

It didn’t take long before she found a mare that fit the bill. A piebald, not too large but strong enough for work, with a gentle nature. Graham inspected her closely. She seemed like a good fit for the ranch, and from the way she nuzzled his hand, he could tell she had a sweet temperament.

After a brief exchange of terms, a lighter purse, and some reluctant goodbyes, Graham left the Duncan ranch with his new horse—a lighter load of money and a freshly reddened face. Mrs. Duncan had kept him on edge with her directness and the way she effortlessly dug into him with her observations. But in the end, he had what he needed. He was ready to head back home, where Ciarán was waiting.

The ride back to the ranch was quieter than the one into town, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon. Graham couldn’t help but smile, thinking of how excited Ciarán would be to meet their new addition to the family.

◆◆◆

The ride back to town was uneventful, and Graham couldn’t have been happier for it. He encountered no one, so he didn’t have to listen to any of the usual rumors or comments about his relationship with Ciarán. He could just focus on the quiet, peaceful day, and that was a rare kind of gift. The sun shone brightly, not too harshly, and the breeze was cool without being uncomfortable. A perfect afternoon for wandering around town. Graham didn’t have a specific plan in mind for meeting up with Ciarán, but considering it was well past noon, he figured the restaurant would be as good a place as any to start looking.

He made his way down the street, passing open windows in nearly every building as he went, the sounds of the town drifting out in the warm air. When he arrived at the restaurant, he spotted the back of Ciarán’s head right away. The unmistakable mop of curls that always made him smile. As he neared the window, his hand already raising to wave, Graham stopped short when he realized someone inside had already caught his husband’s attention.

"You're newly arrived?" It was Jean Lachapelle’s smooth, drawling voice. "You must be. I know everyone in this town. And I wouldn't forget a face like yours."

Graham frowned, noticing the tone and the way Jean had leaned in. Ciarán was still and quiet for a moment before answering, sounding a little uncertain. “Yes, sir, Mr. Lachapelle. I—”

"Where have you been hiding?" Jean’s voice was sharp now, like he’d made up his mind about something.

Ciarán’s response came, hesitant but polite. "Oh, I haven't been hiding. I was...um, on my honeymoon. I was just married last week. Well, a little more than a week. Nine—nine days now, actually."

"Married? And you decided to honeymoon here?" Jean laughed softly, a sound that didn’t sit well with Graham.

"No, no!" Ciarán laughed nervously. "Well, sort of, I came here to meet my husband—he has a ranch—we were sending letters, and he has such a way with—but, you know everyone in town? Do you know my husband? Graham Shepherd?"

Graham’s heart sank. He could hear the unease in Ciarán’s voice, and it made him bristle. His feet moved before his mind could fully catch up. He pushed open the door with more force than he intended, boots clattering loudly against the worn wooden floor as he stepped inside. Ciarán looked up, his eyes widening as he saw him approach.

“What have you been up to?” Graham asked, trying to sound casual, though he could feel the tightness in his chest. His gaze quickly shifted to the bulging chicken feed bag at Ciarán’s feet, now filled with whatever he had purchased during his walk through town. He noticed Ciarán still had half a sandwich left, some apple slices, and a couple of oatmeal cookies on his plate.

With a glance toward Jean, who hadn’t moved an inch, Ciarán smiled a little awkwardly. “I bought a few things. And I walked around town a little bit. Then I came here to wait for you. I saved you some lunch, if you wanted.”

Graham gave him a soft smile, his irritation easing just a touch. “Thank you.” But his gaze drifted back to Jean, who still hadn't budged.

"You got some business here?" Graham asked, his tone curt as he addressed Jean for the first time since entering.

Jean leaned back in his chair, a smug look crossing his face as he sneered. “As it just so happens, I’m in town on business. I thought I might have a bite to eat, but now I seem to have lost my appetite.” He leaned in, his lip curling. “Congratulations on your marriage. I see the only way for you to get a husband was to buy one. Must’ve cost you a pretty penny—but the boy’s pretty enough himself. Better than a washed-up old soldier deserves.”

Graham’s blood ran cold at the words. Anger surged up like a wildfire, hot and fast. He opened his mouth to retort, to give the man a piece of his mind, but before he could even speak, Ciarán cut in.

The younger man stood tall, though he was a head shorter than Jean. But the fire in his eyes, the sheer force of his words, took Graham by surprise. “Oh, you—you cad! How dare you! Maybe you do know everyone in Larkspur—but I’m sorry to have made your acquaintance! My husband’s a skilled rancher and a farmer and a carpenter and he—” Ciarán’s cheeks flushed bright red with anger. “He is certainly not old and washed-up!”

The insult stung, but Graham’s chest swelled with pride at his husband’s words. Jean’s sneer deepened as he hissed, “They might’ve taught you manners before they let you leave the old country!”

Graham saw the flash of hurt in Ciarán’s eyes, but it only made the anger flare hotter in his gut. “You already been told to fuck off once today,” he growled, stepping closer to Jean. “I’m not as polite as everyone else. We cross paths again, and I’ll throw your ass in the dirt.”

Jean’s face twisted in fury, but he glared at the server before turning back to Graham. “Are you just going to let him threaten a customer?” Jean asked, his voice dripping with malice.

The server, who had been quietly stacking plates, glanced up. “You haven’t...ordered anything yet, though,” she said, blinking at him with a mix of confusion and disinterest.

Jean’s anger seemed to boil over, and he stormed off, slamming the door behind him with such force that the hinges rattled.

“Graham?” Ciarán’s voice was soft, hesitant, and when Graham turned toward him, he saw the wide eyes, the hands clasped in front of him nervously. “You...you didn’t mean to—”

“I’m sorry,” Graham interrupted, his own guilt rising. “I didn’t mean to make a scene.”

“Oh, you didn’t, Graham—” Ciarán began, but the server, not missing a beat, chimed in.

“Kind of did.”

Graham flushed, his face burning with embarrassment. He couldn’t believe he’d just let himself get carried away like that. “Sorry,” he mumbled again, this time to everyone in the room. His gaze turned back to Ciarán, and he smiled softly. “Maybe we ought to just head home. I can eat on the way back.”

Ciarán nodded, and with a quick motion, he wrapped the remainder of his meal neatly in his handkerchief. The sandwich half, the cookies, and the apple slices all went into the bag.

Outside, the piebald mare was getting a great deal of Ciarán’s attention, and Graham watched with a smile as the mare nuzzled his husband’s hand. Ginger whinnied from her spot nearby, looking mildly insulted, but soon, she, too, received her share of affection.

“She’s yours,” Graham said, his voice quiet but warm.

Ciarán turned toward him, puzzled. “She’s mine?”

“I got her for you today,” Graham said, the words coming easier now. “You needed a horse.”

Ciarán’s face lit up with a wide, surprised smile. “Really? But—I don’t know how to ride a horse, Graham.”

“I’ll teach you,” Graham said, his heart swelling with affection. “You’re a fast learner.”

He hesitated, wanting to say something more, but the words tangled in his throat. Finally, after a moment of silence, he spoke. “Ciarán, I’m sorry. About how I acted in there. It wasn’t proper. I lost my temper.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “That won’t—It won’t happen again. I promise.”

Ciarán bit his lip, his eyes soft. “You found me,” he said, a look of gratitude in his gaze.

“What?” Graham asked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

Ciarán smiled a little, his voice gentle. “Do you remember? That night after the wedding. You said if anyone ever gave me trouble, I should come find you. But today, with that man—I didn’t even have to. You were already there.”

Graham’s heart skipped a beat. The way Ciarán looked at him made him feel something he couldn’t quite put into words. He could feel his face heat up, and the warmth of his blush made him grateful for his beard, which hid most of his expression. He cleared his throat. “You—You handled yourself just fine back there,” he said, trying to downplay it. “What you said. About me—thank you. He’s an...pardon my language—he’s an asshole of the highest order. Don’t pay him any mind.”

Ciarán just smiled. “He’d get a blue ribbon for it, wouldn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah. Steal the show,” Graham said, chuckling despite himself.

With a steadying hand, he helped Ciarán into the cart. He liked the feeling of their fingers intertwining, of holding him steady as he sat down, and then settling in beside him. The closeness, the warmth. Their knees brushed, and Graham couldn’t help but think that, despite everything, things were going just fine.

Ciarán glanced at the wood piled in the back of the cart. “Is all that for the bed? I’m, um, really looking forward to seeing the finished product.”

Graham’s face felt like it might burn through his beard. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll work on that when we get home.”

They settled into comfortable silence as they made their way home. Ciarán began to hum softly, unwrapping the handkerchief and handing Graham the half sandwich he’d saved, then the cookies. The apple slices, however, went to the horses.

◆◆◆

Once back at the ranch, Graham and Ciarán got to work with the horses. Ciarán, already in love with his piebald mare, named her Bó—a name that made him blush when he explained it to Graham. “It means ‘cow’ in Irish,” he said with an embarrassed laugh, but Graham only smiled in appreciation of how endearing Ciarán was.

As the day wore on, Graham got busy with his own tasks, watering the crops, checking on the livestock, and gathering eggs from the chicken coop. Dinner came and went, and afterward, he returned to his workshop to work on the bed frame. The structure wasn’t overly complicated, but Graham wanted it to be something more than just functional. This was for Ciarán—his husband—and he wanted to give him something worthy of the promise he’d made, to provide for him in every way possible, starting with a marriage bed that wasn’t just a place to sleep, but something to be proud of.

The only trouble was that when it was finally finished, they would have to share it. Together. Graham couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nervousness when he thought about sleeping in the same bed as Ciarán, and the thought of his husband’s nightshirt, soft fabric, and freckled skin made his heart race a little faster than he liked to admit.

That night, as Graham lay on the hayloft, he tried to focus on the work he had ahead of him, hoping it would distract him. But it wasn’t long before he heard Ciarán’s voice calling up to him in the quiet night.

“Graham? Graham, are you awake?”

Instantly alert, Graham sat up, concern flooding his chest. “Ciarán? What is it? What’s wrong?”

The familiar sounds of the cows lowing and the sheep snoring filled the silence, and Graham could hear the rustling of hay as Ciarán shifted his weight. “Um, can I come up?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Graham quickly made his way to the edge of the loft and crouched, keeping an eye out for any missteps from his husband. When Ciarán’s curly head appeared over the edge, he stopped, a bundle tucked under his arm.

“Here, Graham, could you take this? It’s—it’s for you,” Ciarán said, awkwardly lifting the bundle up and passing it to Graham. It was lighter than he expected and much softer.

Graham took the pillow from him, giving it a confused glance before Ciarán continued. “I made it for you with, um, some of the fabric we got at the wedding, and—and I bought some material to stuff it with today at the shops.” He was wearing a new nightgown—a soft cream-colored garment that hung loosely, its hem brushing his ankles. His face was flushed with a bashful sweetness, making Graham’s heart skip a beat.

Graham had to fight himself not to stare. Ciarán looked so lovely, so delicate and peaceful, like something out of a fairytale.

His gaze snapped away from Ciarán and he finally looked down at the pillow. The fabric was soft and inviting, the pattern a series of alternating green and blue triangles forming squares, bordered by a creamy trim. It reminded him of a patchwork quilt, warm and carefully made. The sight of it made something warm stir inside Graham—this was something thoughtful, something his husband had made just for him.

“It’s wonderful,” Graham said, his voice thick with appreciation. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Ciarán’s grin lit up the barn, almost as if he’d just received the highest praise imaginable. “You really like it?”

“I do.” Graham found himself laughing softly, the tension in his chest easing for the first time all day. “It’s perfect.”

Ciarán, obviously pleased with himself, plucked the pillow from Graham’s hands and fluffed it before setting it down on the makeshift bed in the hayloft. “I’m glad you like it,” he said. “Thank you again for taking me into town today.”

“It was no problem. I was glad to.”

Ciarán’s smile faltered just a little, though. “Even so, I know we’re busy here, and we’re just going to go back on Sunday…”

Graham’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Back for what? Did you forget something?”

Ciarán laughed softly, the sound like a light breeze in the still barn, but there was a playful edge to it. “Oh, Graham! You must be so tired! We’re going to church, of course!” His smile dropped just a little when he noticed the look of bewilderment on Graham’s face. “Aren’t we?”

The panic that rose in Graham’s chest was almost suffocating. Church. The last time he’d set foot in one had been at their wedding, and that had barely registered in his memory. The priest’s face had been a blur, the ceremony a distant echo. He couldn’t remember where to sit, or if he needed to say anything, or even if he should pray. But Ciarán wanted to go, and so, Graham would go. He couldn’t refuse.

“Yeah… sorry, I was just—there’s been so much on my mind lately, I nearly forgot about it. Good thing you’re here to remind me.” He gave Ciarán a reassuring smile, hoping it masked the dread settling in his stomach.

Ciarán’s face brightened again, the frown vanishing entirely as he fluffed the pillow one last time. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Graham watched as Ciarán set the pillow down on the hay. He felt a warmth inside—comfort, maybe—but also a slight discomfort at how easily Ciarán had settled in so effortlessly into their life. Graham had never been good at this sort of thing, this domestic life, and sometimes he felt like he was fumbling his way through it.

He tried to ignore the nervous flutter in his chest as he settled back into the hay, the softness of the pillow too inviting. “Are you sure you’re comfortable here?” Ciarán asked, glancing at him with concern. “You could—I wouldn’t mind sharing the bed. Even if it is a little cramped.”

Slept in worse places, Graham thought. His throat tightened at the thought of them sharing a bed, but he didn’t say that. He just smiled, hoping it would hide how he was really feeling. “I’ll be fine.”

A frown tugged at Ciarán’s lips, but he didn’t press it further. “Well, okay,” he murmured. “But, um… if you change your mind, just tell me. It wouldn’t bother me at all. We don’t have to wait until you finish building the new bed.”

“That’s kind of you. Thank you.” Graham wanted to reassure him, but the warmth of Ciarán’s smile made his words falter. “And—thank you again for the pillow.”

“Of course, Graham,” Ciarán said, his voice soft and tender. He lingered for a moment, then turned to go, glancing back at him once more. “Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Ciarán,” Graham replied, though Ciarán was already halfway down the ladder. He heard the barn door creak shut, and then the gentle sounds of the livestock settling in for the night.

Graham lay back down, the pillow soft under his head and smelling faintly of soap and wildflowers. It was the most comfortable he’d been all day, but an unease lingered in his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss, some part of the night he had missed, some way that he’d failed to fully be the kind of husband Ciarán deserved.