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valuable of a gift for a common working man, let alone the son of one. This is the gift of kings,” he held the ring out to where Bram sat at his right, “and I just cannot permit anything of its worth to be given.”
    “Robert,” Bram said tenderly as he took the ring from my father with his own worn hand, “as you well know, all of my family is in Ireland. It is rare that I see them, and when I do, it is only upon the occasion that I venture across the continent and the sea to go to them.
    “They do not reach out to me out of love and familial ties, but instead, only when they’ve found cause to want something that only I may provide. But you,” he looked around the table, meeting our eyes as he indicated all of us, “you have taken me into your hearts and into your home freely. You have never expected anything of worth from me, nor have you ever asked for more than any loved one or frien d would ask of their own.
    “You have done this despite the fact that you have undoubtedly known that I am a man of very considerable means. These past five years have made us a family,” he continued, now focusing entirely on me, “and I have come to care for, love you, and claim you as my own.” His eyes looked up from mine, and with a smile he met the emotionally to uched expressions of my parents.
    His eyes found mine. W ith a warm smile of encouragement, he raised the ring up so that we all could see. “Daine, I want you to have this.” He reached across the table from where he had been sitting across from me, and gently replaced the ring on the paper and iron chain. He sat back in his chair, the picture of ease and joy. “That ring has been with me for a long, long time, waiting to belong to someone who is as good as you.”
    I just sat there, unable to say or do anything but stare helplessly between Bram, my parents, and the ring.
    My mother extended her hand toward me, and softly placed it on my own. Her thumb lightly rubbed a reassuring motion on the back of my hand. She looked at my father and gave him an almost imperceptible nod of her head.
    Taking her lead, my father, proud, kind, and in this moment extremely humbled, began to speak. “Son, I . . . I . . .” He ran his hands through his hair, shook his shoulders and cleared his throat, though it had little effect on the timbre of his voice. “Daine, Mr. Macardle has bestowed you with an incomparable gift. And although I believe the sentiments between us are the same, I have not changed my opinion that his gift is too valuable to be given. However, if you’d like to accept it, I will support your decision entirely.”
    I felt the huge responsibility my father had given me. Did I accept this gift and become steward of something priceless? Or, did I leave it to remain in the hands of someone who had proven capable and worthy of bearing its burden?
    I looked away from my father and found my mother’s face. Her beautiful, hazel eyes were loving as her hand continued to gently knead my own. She delicately bit her lip, nodding understandingly to me.
    Bram gave all appearances of remaining impassive, but I had come to know him well enough to see that he too was anxiously awaiting my decision.
    I returned my sight to my father. He sat aloofly in his chair, absently biting his nails. His dark eyes watched me carefully.
    I looked back at Bram, took a deep breath, and dipped my head in assent.
    Instantly, my mother was to be found standing behind me. “Here, let me help you with that,” she offered kindly.
    When I did not decline her offer, she reached for the ring and the chain, threading the chain through the ring effortlessly before she astutely fixed them to hang from my neck. She patted my back, and leaned around me to look at the ring as it lay against my chest. “It looks wonderful, Daine.” And with that, she kissed my temple.
    My father shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Carine, there wouldn’t happen to be any of that delicious birthday cake left,