The Borrowed Ring

d ever see him again. He could try to buy himself happiness, and she would try to find her own through other means—her work, for example. Her family.

And maybe instead of being disappointed with what Daniel had become, she would take some pleasure in remembering a few exciting, if risky, days with the dashing boy of her girlhood dreams.

Chapter Nine

By nine-thirty it seemed quite clear that Bernard wouldn't be returning for them that night. “I guess you were right,” B.J. said after checking her watch. “We're here for the night. And we've missed Ingrid's show. I hope it went well for her.”

Daniel looked up from the playing cards in his hand. They had unearthed a wooden box from one cabinet earlier, discovering that it held playing cards, poker chips, a set of dominoes, checkers and chess pieces and a back-gammon board. Daniel figured the games were to entertain guests during the frequent but usually quite brief autumn showers that kept the vegetation so lush and green.

B.J. had pounced rather eagerly on the games, probably relieved that they had something to occupy them to make the time they spent together less awkward.

“You're still worrying about missing Ingrid's performance?”

“Well…I did promise. And I hate to think there were no friendly faces in the audience for her.”

Daniel laid his cards in front of him and rested his elbows on the table, studying her over his loosely clasped hands. “I'm glad to know the nice girl I remembered has turned into an equally nice woman.”

He'd meant it as a simple compliment. He didn't expect B.J. to set her cards down with a scowl and push herself abruptly to her feet. “I'm thirsty again. Do you want anything?”

“No, I'm okay.” He watched moodily as she opened the cooler and drew out a half bottle of water she had opened earlier.

Why had it bothered her so badly that he'd commented about how well she'd turned out? Was it because she wasn't able to say the same thing about him?

If you would rather model yourself after Judson Drake than Jared Walker, you have every right to do so.

Beneath the table his hands drew into fists on his knees. She didn't understand, of course. She couldn't possibly understand, having come from such a drastically different background.

He continued to watch her as she walked to the fire pit. She had donned her cardigan as a shield against the cooler night air. She sat on the sand with her arms wrapped around her upraised knees, the water bottle untouched on the sand beside her. Her somber expression was illuminated by the leaping flames.

Damn, but she was beautiful. Funny how he hadn't seen that at the beginning, thinking then that she was merely pretty. Cute. The more time he spent with her, the more he appreciated the genuine beauty of her—both inward and outward.

Yet she was openly disappointed with the man he had become. She saw him as more closely resembling Judson Drake than Jared Walker, the uncle she revered.

The hell of it was, he couldn't entirely disagree with her.

Sitting by a campfire had always made her rather melancholy. Now she found herself swamped with nostalgia, thinking of the campfires at the Walker ranch. Muted laughter and the steady rumble of adult conversation. Children's eager chattering. Camp songs. Roasted marshmallows drawn blackened and melting from the flames.

Her brother and sister and parents, aunts, uncles and cousins. Family. As often as she had felt suffocated by the sheer number of them, she found herself missing them all now.

Was her mother worrying about her? Layla Walker Samples was a notorious worrier, especially when it came to her three kids—all of whom had occasionally given her cause for concern. Layla would be wondering what was going on now, since it was so uncharacteristic for B.J. to just take off on her own.

B.J. wouldn't be at all surprised if her uncles were looking for her despite the explanatory e-mail she had sent home.

She wished she could talk to her mother now. Or even better, her father. The dependable, pragmatic accountant was the one person B.J. could always count on for calm, rational, objective advice.

“Are you cold?” Daniel asked as he knelt beside her.

Her chin resting on her up-drawn knees, B.J. did not look away from the flames. “No.”

“You aren't nervous about being here tonight?”

“No, of course not. I've camped out plenty of times before.”

Sensing that he was still looking at her in concern, she lifted her head to look at him. “I'm fine, Daniel. I guess I was just a little homesick for a minute there.”

He glanced from her face to the fire. “Remembering the campfires at the ranch?”

It was odd to hear him put her thoughts into words, as if he'd had a glimpse into her memories. “Yes.”