I’d called ahead when I woke up and been told he could spare me fifteen minutes that morning. Giving Gigi a call at the office to let her know where I’d be—and gritting my teeth at the necessity—I headed east on Woodmen Road into a blinding sunrise and a sky so clear I could see to the far side of Kansas. I happened to notice that no strange cars cluttered Dan’s driveway as I drove past. I’d done a quick Internet search and made a couple of calls about Johnson before setting out and unearthed some interesting details. He was from a well-off ranching family in eastern Colorado and, through innovative breeding practices and good management, had turned the respectable family fortune into a large one. He’d picked up a master’s in agriculture science at Colorado State University and interned in a lab in Pennsylvania doing genetic engineering before returning to Colorado to run the ranch when his father died. He’d gotten married for the first time at the age of thirty. His bride was only eighteen, I’d noted with interest, and they’d divorced three years later.
