The Good Daughter

Chapter Eight - Choices

"Rowe, you know I love ya' like my own. I love all you kid's, but no one loves you more than your Pa does. He's sad, Rowynn, real sad."

Whenever he was serious or upset, Rowynn noticed her uncle's thick southern accent he acquired from his father come out full circle. Her mother didn't have such an interesting accent, however.

"If he's so sad, he doesn't show it. He just gets angry."

Bridger sighed as he leaned against the doorframe. He lived in his old gentleman ways and never entered a girl's bedroom. Ever. Even if that girl was his blood family.

"To be fair, you're not the easiest pup to live with," he joked, chuckling, but Rowynn knew the underlying truth to that statement.

"Did you just come here to tease me?" she snapped, growing increasingly annoyed with her hair that seemed to want to spring in every direction.

"Naw, don't get mad. But seriously, you gotta' take it easy. He did the best he could after your Ma passed away, and in all the years I've known that guy, I've never once seen him cry, but the day Elle passed away, he sobbed. Today, after I talked to him about you, that same look crossed his face – like he was at the end of his rope."

Rowynn froze as Bridger spoke, never knowing that her father had even shed a tear, let alone cry when her mother died. "I'm not that bad," she whispered. Where the hell was this conversation leading?

"He just doesn't wanna' lose you, darlin'. He's lost enough. He doesn't want you to run away. I think that's what scares the poor guy the most. Don't think he'd be able to take it if there were no more Rowynn keepin' him on his toes."

"I'm sure there are a lot of people who would disagree."

Her hair finally seemed to want to stay put as she placed a pin to keep everything intact. Turning to face Bridger, she mentally groaned, as his face fell into a frown. Now it was story time...

"When you were born, pup, we didn't think you'd last the night, let alone twenty-two years," he explained and, as an afterthought, added, "twenty-two amazing, yet difficult, years."

She let out a tuff of air and placed a hand on her hip. "I get it – I'm difficult."

His smile was patronizing. "Well, you lived, and I think it had somethin' ta' do with your daddy. For a week straight after you were born he held you in his arms. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat – he just held you, fed you, changed you, and prayed to whatever is up above that if you lived, he'd do anythin' to make our lives better, and he did. He made it safer to be what we are."

Rowynn laughed, "And for that I have to stay here forever? Miserable?"

"Nah, you don't get it. I'm jus' sayin' he woulda' moved heaven and earth to make sure you lived, and you did. Might be cause' you weren't born like the rest of his pups. It was like you were human, like Jack-" He abruptly stopped talking after that last sentence.

Rowynn's brow lifted as she asked, "A human like... Dad?"

Bridger paled and ran a hand through his light blond hair. "Nah, forget I said anything."

"I heard what you said. What did you mean? My father is not a human."

"Yeah, yeah, he's not. I got confused. Forget I said anything."

This just made her more curious, but Bridger sucked in a breath and stopped talking about the subject.

There seemed to be something stirring outside and the air tensed. Rowynn and Bridger could feel something was wrong and – Bridger having his personal rules about going into a lady's bedroom – Rowynn moved to her window to peek outside.