"I'm a terrible Mother. How could this be? What am I going to do?"Oh, no. Crying. The ultimate weapon a woman has. Now, what? I had several options. I...could run out the door and drive to Saskatchewan, or someplace like that. I could comfort her and try to talk her off the ledge. Or, I could take a firm hand. I suspected Bridget was used to men approaching her as supplicants. I doubt many men had ever taken a firm hand with her. I was uncomfortable in that role - it just wasn't me - but those. She stopped walking as soon as she was inside the houseand I shut the door quietly. She didn't move. Her back was toward meand I took the opportunity to look her over. She was wearing a pinkpull over sweater and, in keeping with the latest styles, jeans thatwere artfully torn in random locations. My eyes came to a rest on herbeautiful round ass. In just the past few seconds my heartbeat hadsped, my hormones kicked in, and my dick began to perk up. And still shestood, unmoving, with her back. More

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