It was odd, how she'd brushed past his initial boundaries somehow to void out the argumentative nature in him; with Geneva, he was not the brutish, coldshouldered idiot that constantly pushed away intruders to his walls. No, she'd found some deep, raw point deep within him one way or another, and now that his core had been so blatantly exposed, he no longer felt any need to push her away. At the same time, however, despite the closeness that had developed between the two, he and Geneva had hardly shared a smile or a greeting in recent weeks. She'd made an excellent assistant in DaVinci's stead; moving her to the subleader positions was something he didn't question in the least, and at the same time, balanced Phoenix Valley excellently at the same time. The brute that he was still realized that a kindly figure in the leader ranks would help bring down some tension the pack might have been feeling.
She grinned at him as gingerly as ever, almost forwarding some of that deep-set optimism and spirit she possessed straight to the worn, scarred male. He needed that spirit. He needed many things, in fact, but the energy she was so willing to ease him with kept the Patriarch on his feet, gave him reason to smile, and got him out of the house and walking. Evidently, he'd run out of such energy earlier that day, considering he'd passed out in the hay bale outside the ranch. He brightened (ever so slightly) at the touch of noses. "I thought I could hide here," he grinned, now raising his good arm up effortlessly despite her pressure to keep him pinned. The bad arm, of course, stayed where it was. No amount of spirit she could give him would get that arm to cease its ache. "But I was hiding because there's nothing to see in a pile of hay. You're not usually in this area this time of day; what's the occasion?"