Boyd would have been dismayed to read Rick's thoughts. His reaction was generally clinical, a purely physical and automatic assessment of the arrangement of her limbs, just in case she tried to attack him again. Amusement played clearly across his features when she suggested he was an enforcer, as if the idea was so ludicrous he simply couldn't not, but he appeared to get control of himself and his smile in another moment's time.
Then he said, "You have accepted my hospitality, entered my home, eaten my food, then proceeded to threaten me, demand a deadly weapon, call me names, throw a spoon at my head, and then scream in some idiot attempt to get me into all kinds of trouble I am trying to avoid with my presence here. I am aware no one has had a hand in raising you with manners, and I am not volunteering, but I am also not going to be ordered around by a scared child." He moved neither forward, nor back. "I'm not going to hurt you, and neither is anything else in my house. If you insist on having a temper tantrum, you can do it when there are no lives at stake, in some empty place, like the park, perhaps, or back at the hospital." All the dead eyes moved from him to her, as if an audience in some dreadfully entertaining tennis match.