For what? His gaze shifted toward the window where Walter and the men were returning to work. For not making me feel foolish. Hannah looked at him. You were under half a corral.
That faint smile returned still. She reached for the parlor door. Rest your shoulder. Yes, ma'am. Hannah stepped into the hallway before he could see her smile.
Upstairs, Molly waited on the landing. Is Papa hurt a little? Will he be all right? Hannah held out her hand. Molly took it.
He will. As they went downstairs together, Hannah glanced through the parlor doorway. Grant had closed his eyes. One enormous hand rested loose against the chair arm. For the first time, he did not look intimidating.
He simply looked tired. Human. And Hannah found that realization far more dangerous than being afraid of him had ever been. Grant's shoulder did not heal quickly. That irritated him more than the injury itself.
For the first four days after the branding accident, he attempted to behave as though nothing had changed. On the first morning, Hannah found him in the back hall trying to pull on his coat with one arm. She leaned against the kitchen doorway. Grant glanced over. Morning.
Where are you going? Barn. No. His eyebrows rose. Hannah returned to slicing bread.
You can make that face if it pleases you. Your shoulder won't care. I own the barn. You'll continue owning it from the house until Walter says otherwise. Grant stared at her.
She cut another slice. A moment later came the sound of his coat dropping onto a chair. Henry, seated at the table with the household ledger, covered his mouth with one hand. Grant pointed at him. Not a word.
Henry lowered his eyes. Yes, sir. His shoulders shook. Grant caught it. So, this is what my authority has become.
Hannah set the bread knife down. You still have authority. Thank you. Just not over your shoulder. Henry lost the fight and laughed.
For one second, Grant looked offended. Then Molly giggled, too. It was a small sound. So small Hannah almost missed it. Grant did not.
His expression changed. He looked toward his daughter, who immediately dropped her eyes to the blue ribbon she was winding around her fingers. Grant said nothing more about the barn. His forced confinement changed the household. Before the accident, Grant had moved through the house mostly at the edges of the day.
Coffee before sunrise, supper after dark, a few words with the children, then accounts, barn work, or another chore that apparently could not wait until morning. Now he was there. At first, he did not know what to do with himself. He sat at the dining table going through cattle receipts with his left hand while his right arm remained supported close to his body. He checked invoices twice, sharpened pencils that did not need sharpening, asked Walter questions he already knew the answers to.
Hannah watched without commenting. By the sixth day, she placed a stack of feed bills beside his coffee. Grant looked at them. What's this? Something useful.