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Graham couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone wrong, that he’d done something to cause a shift in Ciarán’s behavior. His husband was still as dutiful as ever with the chores, still as kind-hearted, still the same Ciarán who had stepped into his life with so much warmth. But now, it seemed that after their conversation in the hayloft, he had become quieter—more withdrawn than before.

Graham could see it in the way Ciarán moved through the house, in the way he tended to the animals and worked the fields. His presence was still there, but it felt like something was missing. The chatter that used to fill the quiet moments between them had diminished, replaced by an unspoken distance that Graham couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He wanted to bring Ciarán back. He wanted to hear him hum in the pasture, to feel his laughter echoing around the ranch. Graham had never wanted anything more than Ciarán’s happiness. He needed him to stay. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, especially not now. He was no longer a young man—his body was marked by scars and time, his mind weighed down by the years of loneliness and regret. But now, with Ciarán in his life, he felt something he hadn't in ages: peace. Ciarán had become a part of everything—his home, his routines, his every day. His footprints were in the dirt of the fields, his soft voice filling the space of their house, his presence a constant comfort.

Graham had never been happier in his entire life. Marrying Ciarán had been the best decision he had ever made, and now, he had to make sure that Ciarán was just as happy with his decision. He couldn’t stand the thought that he might be the one causing Ciarán’s unease.

That’s why Sunday needed to go perfectly.

Graham hadn’t set foot in a church in years, but he remembered well enough what it was like. There were expectations—traditions to uphold. You had to dress well, be respectful, and sit through the long service. It was a lot of work for what amounted to a few hours of sitting and listening to someone talk. But today, it was important. Today, he needed to make everything go right for Ciarán.

He pulled on his suit, the same one he had worn to their wedding, and did his best to prepare himself. His hair was messy from the work he had been doing all week, and he trimmed his beard just enough to make it look purposeful rather than wild. He polished his shoes, though they were worn from years of use, and tried not to complain about the whole ordeal. He was doing it for Ciarán.

And then, Ciarán appeared.

He had changed into one of his new outfits—pressed white shirt, a plaid double-breasted waistcoat in muted brown, beige, and black, paired with brown trousers. He had even donned a straw hat, its black velvet ribbon accentuated by wildflowers freshly cut from the prairie. The sight of him nearly stole the breath from Graham’s chest. He was stunning, so much so that Graham almost forgot to speak. But when their eyes met, Ciarán blushed and quickly looked away.

“How do I look?” Ciarán asked, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Graham was momentarily speechless, but he quickly recovered. “You look like you stepped right out of a fashion plate,” he said, unable to keep the awe from his voice.

Ciarán let out a nervous laugh, the sound sweet and nervous. “Oh, Graham. Honestly—do I look okay? I want to make a good first impression.”

Graham smiled, the corners of his mouth curling up in genuine affection. “I wouldn’t lie to you,” he said, though a frown creased his brow as he thought of the church. “And you’ve already met most of the people who’ll be there from the wedding. They liked you plenty.”

Ciarán's worry didn’t seem to fade. “Oh, but this is different. This is church. I hope I remember everyone’s names. And you’ll have to show me where to sit.”

“Right,” Graham said, a small sense of dread creeping in. “Should be room for the both of us. In my usual… pew.”

Ciarán gave a small nod, though he still looked uncertain, and Graham’s heart ached with the need to make everything right for him.

As they climbed into the buggy, Graham took a deep breath, deciding it was time to start his own quiet prayer. Lord , he thought, forgive me for straying from Your path. As You can see, I’m currently back on it, heading to church thanks to my husband, who is good and faithful. If You could find it in Your Godliness to spare me from making a fool of myself in front of him today, I’d be eternally grateful, and I promise I’ll be at Your service, and church service, every Sunday from here on out.

The wind rustled the prairie grass as they made their way down the road, and Ciarán’s voice broke the silence. “I think it’s a very fine day,” he murmured softly, his smile gentle and full of warmth.

Graham couldn't help but smile, the sincerity in his heart finding its way into his words. “Amen,” he muttered under his breath.

◆◆◆

The fear of God gripped Graham like a vice. He hadn’t prayed like this in years, not since he was a boy, and the weight of his anxiety made every word of his pleas to the Lord feel desperate and raw. He had started as soon as they left the house, whispering quiet prayers beneath his breath, asking for guidance, for mercy, for forgiveness. But now, the panic was growing, as if each second he spent in that church was another step toward exposing every flaw he carried with him.

The choir’s voices were soaring through the church, but to Graham, their song sounded like a dirge of judgment. It was as though each note was directed solely at him, a clear condemnation for his years away from the faith. His mind raced, scrambling for some form of solace as the sound of the hymns filled the air—notes that seemed to echo louder in his head than in the grand hall itself. He tried to keep his head down, hoping the attention of the congregation would stay elsewhere, but the whispers and stares of the townsfolk cut through him like a blade.

He felt every pair of eyes on him. His heart pounded as the familiar faces of his neighbors watched him walk by, surprised and shocked by his sudden reappearance in a place he hadn’t been in years. Graham prayed fervently that no one would ask about it, that no one would make a comment about how out of place he felt in the house of God. He could almost feel their judgment in the way they eyed him as he passed, and he couldn’t bear to meet their gazes.

Ciarán, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the attention. His husband, with his bright eyes and open heart, was taking it all in with quiet curiosity. Ciarán had likely been too distracted during the wedding to really notice the church’s layout, and now, he was eagerly scanning the rows of pews, his gaze flicking from side to side with wonder. Graham was thankful for the distraction. At least Ciarán was more concerned with familiarizing himself with the place than wondering why the church had turned into a spectacle because of their arrival.

“Where do you usually sit, Graham?” Ciarán asked, his voice soft, not yet realizing the tension gnawing at Graham’s insides.

Graham’s prayer intensified, an urgent plea that there would be enough space in the crowded church for them both. They needed somewhere to sit, a place where they wouldn’t be forced to stand in the back, exposed for all to see. He glanced around, his stomach tightening with dread as his eyes scanned the packed pews. The church was full, too full for his liking. He cursed their piety under his breath. Why couldn’t this town be like others, where the saloons had more patrons than the house of worship? It would have made this whole thing much easier.

“Graham?” Ciarán’s voice pulled him back from his spiraling thoughts.

Graham clenched his fists and fought the wave of panic rising in his chest. He looked again, desperately searching for any sign of familiarity, any face he could trust.

And then, in the third row, he saw them. Liam and Ronan, his neighbors, sitting together in prayer. Relief washed over him like a flood, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse right there. He didn’t care that the pews were nearly full or that the church was almost bursting at the seams—he just needed a place to sit. Somewhere he could settle into, where he didn’t feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on him.

He grabbed Ciarán’s hand and pulled him toward the row. “There—right over there,” he said, his voice tight, though he couldn’t hide the relief that slipped through.

Ronan spotted them first, his eyes narrowing before he spoke. “Graham,” he said, his voice neutral. Then he turned his attention to Ciarán. “Ciarán.”

Ciarán, ever the picture of politeness, smiled brightly, greeting them with genuine warmth. “Good morning, Ronan. Good morning, Liam.”

Liam, always direct, snapped his prayer book shut with a frown. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he studied them both. But then he saw the desperation in Graham’s eyes, and his expression softened, understanding the silent plea. “I mean, that is, what are you doing just standing there? The service is about to start. Come and take your seats.”

Ronan shifted aside, making just enough room for Graham and Ciarán to squeeze into the tight pew. It wasn’t comfortable—especially not for someone of Graham’s size—but it was a place to sit. He didn’t care that it was a tight fit.

With a deep breath, Graham slid in beside Ciarán, his bulky frame pressed up against the side of the pew, barely fitting. Ciarán, for his part, seemed utterly at ease. He looked like he belonged in that church, sitting with his hands neatly folded in his lap, his straw hat resting on his head, still as sweet and bright as ever. He was completely focused on the choir, listening with a rapt attention that made Graham’s heart ache.

But for Graham, the tightness of the pew was nothing compared to the tightness in his chest. Ciarán, nestled between him and Ronan, looked like he was in his element. The joy that radiated from his face was almost too much for Graham to bear. It only made the knot in his stomach tighten further.

◆◆◆

Graham’s childhood had been filled with hard labor on the family farm. His father had no head for business, and while his mother worked tirelessly to keep things running, managing a seven-person household on limited funds was always a struggle. Church attendance had been sporadic, never a day of true rest but just another task to fit into the endless list of obligations that never seemed to ease. He recalled his mother dressing him in his finest, lacing up his boots with precision, pulling at the fabric of his shirt that always felt too tight. The journey to town was long, crowded, and uncomfortable, with the scent of sweat, hay, and dust hanging thick in the air. They’d pile into the carriage, his siblings squashed together, their limbs jostling as the wheels rattled over the road. Yet, for all those memories, Graham couldn’t recall a single detail about the service itself. Church had always been something distant, incomprehensible. The words, the rituals, the rituals—they had all blurred into a haze, as irrelevant as the cows in the barn that needed milking. He’d never quite understood what he was meant to take from it all.

Now, sitting in the crowded church beside Ciarán, Graham could almost feel his past crashing into his present. The building was hot and stuffy, the air thick with the scent of too many bodies packed into too small a space. The choir was singing, their harmonies rising and falling, but it was all in Latin—a language that might as well have been ancient Greek for all it meant to Graham. His husband, however, was right there beside him, singing along with the others. Ciarán’s voice was a soft, melodic murmur, barely audible over the rest of the congregation, but Graham, sitting so close to him, had the privilege of hearing it up close. It was absolutely angelic, a sound that made his chest tighten.

He found himself wishing that he could understand the words—understand the meaning behind them—but the Latin swirled around him, indecipherable, unintelligible. The service, like his childhood experiences in church, was long and drawn out, and he couldn’t help but wish for it to end. The priest’s voice droned on, a constant hum in the background of his thoughts. Graham shifted uncomfortably on the hard pew, his legs aching from being cramped into such a small space. He was hungry, thinking about the meal he and Ciarán could share once they were free of the confines of this building.

Just as his hopes began to rise that the service might come to a close, it continued. There were more prayers, the priest read from the Bible, and the choir broke into more songs—songs he couldn’t sing along to, even though he tried to mouth the unfamiliar words. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, didn’t want anyone to hear him stumble through the lyrics, and so he kept his mouth shut. He was content to simply sit there, endure the discomfort, and be with Ciarán. After all, what else could he do? A few hours, once a week, to sit beside his husband in a place that made Ciarán so happy, to witness the serenity that always seemed to radiate from him—it was a small price to pay. Every time he glanced at Ciarán, his face filled with peace, Graham couldn’t help but feel a deep ache in his chest. He was content in a way that Graham hadn’t been for years. Maybe, just maybe, he was finally learning how to be content too.

Communion came and went, and although it was familiar to Graham—he’d had a taste of it during his time in the war, where the chaplain would bless them before battles, offering quick communion before they marched to their deaths—it was nothing like what he was experiencing now. The rushed, battlefront rituals had been blunt, pragmatic. No time for ceremony, no time for reflection. Here, in the quiet of the church, everything felt drawn out, slow, and deliberate. The priest gave each person their wafer, their sip of wine, and Graham accepted it, the taste lingering on his tongue long after the ritual had finished. The whole experience left him feeling both grounded and strangely detached.

When the service finally ended, Graham let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He hoped that they could slip away and share a meal together, just the two of them, away from the crowds. But no. That wasn’t to be. The social aspect of church was as much a part of the experience as the service itself. The people clustered in groups, talking and laughing, introducing themselves to new faces, and catching up with old ones. Ciarán, ever the social butterfly, was immediately caught up in the tide of conversation. He greeted people, smiled brightly, introduced himself to new faces, and made small talk with those who had attended their wedding.

Graham stood back, watching him, wishing he could just sneak away with Ciarán and forget about the formality of it all. He would’ve been content to just slip away from the bustle, to find some quiet corner where the two of them could talk and share a meal. But instead, he found himself standing awkwardly as Ciarán made the rounds. Ronan, ever the easygoing one, stood off to the side as well, content to wait for Liam to finish a particularly animated conversation with one of the townswomen.

Graham was lost in thought, daydreaming about the simple pleasures of a quiet lunch with Ciarán, when Liam’s voice suddenly cut through the chatter. “Ah, they must be joking! You can’t misplace two beasts like that!”

Graham’s attention snapped back to the conversation. “What’s going on?” he asked, moving closer.

Ciarán was the one who explained. “The Duncans are missing two horses. The sheriff says they might have just wandered off, but Mr. and Mrs. Duncan are sure it’s theft.”

Graham, who had a mind for details and a keen sense of the practical, furrowed his brow. There was something off about this. He didn’t trust it. “Any description of the thief?”

“No,” Liam answered. “They woke up in the morning, and two of their finest were just gone—a mare and a stallion.”

“Nothing broken? The fences?” Graham pressed, trying to gather more information. It didn’t add up. Horses like that didn’t just wander off.

“Not a one,” Liam confirmed, shaking his head. “All was fine until they noticed they were gone.”

Graham’s suspicion deepened. “Those animals were stolen,” he said firmly. “The sheriff thinks they just wandered off?”

“Well, I’ve never had use for a lawman in my life. Is that not so, my love?” Ronan’s deep voice rumbled, his hand resting comfortably on Liam’s shoulder.

“Sea, tá sé amhlaidh, mo ghrá,” Liam agreed with a low chuckle, but it wasn’t as jovial as it seemed.

One of the churchgoers, overhearing them, looked scandalized. “Sir, how can you say such a thing?” she gasped. “What would happen if some of your livestock went missing—why, who would you go to?”

Ronan’s reply came smoothly, without missing a beat. “Well, first I’d go to my husband, and then I’d go to my rifle, and we would find them ourselves. Wouldn’t we, my love?” He turned to Liam, who nodded, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“Sea, mo ghrá,” Liam agreed again, their bond evident in the shared understanding between them.

The exchange left Graham thinking. Whoever had taken the Duncans’ horses had done it with purpose. This wasn’t a simple case of wandering animals. And in a small town like Larkspur, where crime wasn’t common, that meant someone had a plan—and that plan was just beginning to unfold.

◆◆◆

After Ciarán had been welcomed into nearly every household in Larkspur for afternoon tea, their day was coming to a close. The small town seemed to embrace him with open arms, and Ciarán had handled the attention with his usual warmth and charm. But as they finally said their goodbyes, Graham couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. The social whirl had been a lot, and now it was time to return to the peace and quiet of their home.

“You don’t want to go into town?” Graham asked, his voice carrying the weight of a long day.

Ciarán shook his head. “No, no. That’s okay. I’m a bit tired.”

Graham understood. He was tired, too. It had been a long day, full of introductions and small talk, and though it had been nice to see Ciarán so embraced by the town, the thought of retreating to the sanctuary of their home was a welcome one. They both needed a break. He longed to change out of his formal clothes and slip back into the comfort of his work clothes, the kind that didn’t pinch or scratch.

Outside the church, the gossip had run rampant, as it always did in a small town. But what had really bothered Graham was the news about the Duncans' stolen horses. It gnawed at him, his mind running through the possibilities. The thief had taken two prized animals, and Graham knew the Duncans were no fools—they wouldn’t just let their livestock wander off without a trace. If the thief had stolen them, then they would need to be found. The idea of someone trespassing on his property to steal livestock—his livelihood— was something Graham couldn’t stomach. He’d have to be more vigilant, keep a closer eye on his own herd. Losing a cow or a sheep to theft would be a blow, not just to his income but to his heart. Each animal was more than a profit; it was a part of his family.

And there was more at stake now. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had Ciarán to think about. It wasn’t just his land or his animals he had to protect. It was Ciarán, too. The thought of someone trying to harm him—stealing what was rightfully his, or worse—made something dark and protective stir in Graham’s chest. A guard dog, maybe. A loyal, fierce creature that would keep an eye on the house while they were away. It might even put a smile on Ciarán’s face. He pictured a dog—big enough to guard the place, but not too big to be manageable. Maybe someone nearby had a litter. A dog like that would be a good companion, a protector, and would keep Ciarán safe when Graham wasn’t around.

But then, just as the thoughts were beginning to settle in his mind, Ciarán’s voice broke the quiet.

“Did I do something wrong?” Ciarán blurted out, his words soft but filled with an undercurrent of worry.

The question caught Graham off guard, making him turn his head sharply toward his husband. “What—what would you have done wrong?” he asked, the confusion evident in his voice.

“I don’t know, Graham. That’s why I’m asking you,” Ciarán said, his gaze distant, eyes focused on his hands. “You were so tense at church. So—uncomfortable. Did I—did I embarrass you in some way?”

Graham blinked, completely taken aback by the question. He had thought Ciarán had been too wrapped up in the service to notice his discomfort. “No! Why would you—you wouldn’t ever—you’re so—I’m more likely to embarrass you,” he stammered, his face flushing with panic at the idea that he might have made Ciarán feel anything less than welcome.

Ciarán’s brow furrowed slightly, his voice soft as he spoke again. “I don’t see how,” he murmured, his fingers nervously fiddling with the buttons on his waistcoat. “You’re an established, successful rancher and a respected member of the community, and I’m… an Irishman who was doing piecemeal work in New York.” He gave a sad, self-deprecating smile and shrugged. “I just—don’t know if I belong here.”

Graham’s heart clenched at the words. He leaned in, taking Ciarán’s hands in his. “You’re selling yourself short. And thinking too highly of me,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “There wasn’t—there’s nothing wrong with you. We’ve talked about this before, Ciarán. I’m real happy you’re here. Happiest I’ve been in a long, long time.”

The faint blush that appeared on Ciarán’s face told Graham that he was still struggling with the doubt in his own heart. “Then what was on your mind at church today?” Ciarán asked, his voice small, almost hesitant.

Graham sighed, the weight of the truth pressing down on him. He knew he couldn’t lie to Ciarán anymore, couldn’t let him carry the worry that he’d somehow done something wrong. “Ciarán,” he began, his voice quiet but steady. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, Graham,” Ciarán replied, though the puzzlement in his eyes deepened.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day. It’s been eating at me,” Graham said, holding the reins tighter in his hands. “I never meant to lie to you, but I did. And I’m sorry for it.”

Ciarán’s eyes widened in surprise. “Lied? About what?” he asked, a thread of concern creeping into his voice.

Graham paused for a moment before continuing. “Today was the first time I’ve been to a church service in years. Not since—well, the war.” He let out a breath. “And that wasn’t—you know, we were out on the battlefields and in camps, and it was just all us soldiers and—well, it wasn’t the same. I didn’t—today wasn’t anything like I remembered, or what I expected. I didn’t understand most of it. I didn’t feel comfortable there.”

For a while, Ciarán was silent, his gaze thoughtful as he processed the words. The only sound was the steady clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the path, and the occasional rattle of the buggy as they made their way back to the ranch. Graham’s stomach tightened as he waited for a response, unsure of what Ciarán would say.

Finally, Ciarán spoke, his voice quiet but gentle. “Then—why did you take me to church today?” he asked, his eyes searching Graham’s face.

Graham frowned, a little confused by the question. “Because you wanted to go,” he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You asked—how could I refuse?”

Ciarán blinked, a little taken aback by the response. “You got up and got ready for church just for me? After all this time?”

“Yeah,” Graham replied simply, his voice quieter now.

“Why?” Ciarán’s voice was full of wonder, his eyes wide and awestruck as he looked at Graham.

Graham shifted uncomfortably in his seat, flustered by the question. “Because I want you to be happy here. I want you to stay. I want you to—want to stay,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush.

Ciarán smiled, his hand covering Graham’s. He squeezed it gently, his eyes warm. “Graham, I—of course I want to stay. I’m very happy here. I promise. Sometimes I wonder if—” He stopped himself, his face flushing pink as he turned away slightly, embarrassed.

“Wonder if what?” Graham asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Sometimes I just wonder if you’re happy with me,” Ciarán murmured, almost too quietly to hear.

Graham’s heart swelled with affection. He leaned in closer, his voice firm as he spoke. “I’m happy,” he said, his gaze steady. “Whatever else you might worry about, don’t—don’t worry about that. I’m happy that you’re here, Ciarán. That you’re here with me. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression at church.”

A slow, relieved smile spread across Ciarán’s face. He seemed to breathe a little easier now. “Does that mean—what if Liam and Ronan hadn’t been there? Where would we have sat?”

Graham puffed out his chest with mock bravado. “I would’ve gotten us a seat. Even if I had to throw someone on their ass.”

Ciarán burst into laughter, the sound like music to Graham’s ears. “Graham! You wouldn’t have!”

“I’d have cleared a pew just for the two of us,” Graham declared, his chest swelling with pride.

Still laughing, Ciarán leaned in a little closer, resting his head against Graham’s shoulder. They still had a ways to go before they reached the ranch, but for once, Graham didn’t mind the distance.