“She ain’t a Griffith,” he spat. I pointed a finger at him. “Neither are you, son. You’d better remember that.” I eyed the cluster of ranch hands as I pointed toward the office. “She carries the weight of my name. She’s a Griffith to you.” They nodded in agreement. I turned back to Jackson. “If you so much as look at her wrong and she wants you gone, you’re gone. Have I made myself clear?”
