PART 1: THE MOST DANGEROUS FACE IN TEXAS

In twenty years of running a cattle ranch, Walter Briggs had fired men for drinking, fighting, stealing, sleeping on duty, and once for attempting to teach a bull to dance.

But he had never fired a man for being too handsome.

Until the summer of 1892.

And as Walter would soon discover, jealousy was considerably more expensive than a broken fence.

It all began when a young cowboy named Caleb Morgan rode into the little Texas town of Red Willow looking for work.

Caleb was twenty-eight, stood six feet three inches tall, had dark wavy hair, bright blue eyes, and the sort of smile that made perfectly respectable married women forget what they had entered a room to purchase.

He was also an excellent horseman, a hardworking ranch hand, and remarkably polite.

Unfortunately, Walter Briggs noticed none of those qualities.

He noticed the smile.

More specifically, he noticed what happened whenever Caleb used it.

On Caleb’s first morning at the ranch, three women arrived carrying baskets of homemade biscuits.

On the second morning, five appeared with pies.

By Friday, the Briggs ranch had received enough baked goods to supply a military regiment.

“What’s happening here?” Walter demanded, staring at six women gathered near the horse corral.

His foreman, Hank, scratched his beard.

“Well, boss, Mrs. Peterson says she came to borrow a shovel.”

“She owns three shovels.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Mrs. Dawson?”

“Needs advice about her horse.”

“Her horse died eight years ago!”

Hank considered that.

“Maybe she’s planning ahead.”

Walter’s eye began twitching.

Across the yard, Caleb was calmly brushing a chestnut mare while Mrs. Peterson, Mrs. Dawson, and the mayor’s wife watched him as though he were performing a Shakespeare play.

“Good morning, ladies,” Caleb said with a friendly smile.

Three women sighed simultaneously.

Walter nearly swallowed his tobacco.

Things grew worse when Caleb went into town on Saturday.

The general store sold out of hair ribbons.

The church choir suddenly gained eleven new female members after Caleb casually mentioned enjoying music.

Even Mrs. Fletcher, a seventy-four-year-old widow who had spent fifteen years complaining about modern young men, bought herself a new blue dress.

“For church,” she insisted.

Unfortunately, she wore it to the ranch.

By the following Monday, Walter had decided that Caleb Morgan was a public nuisance.

Then came the incident that finally pushed him over the edge.

Walter was eating breakfast with his wife, Margaret, when she glanced out the kitchen window.

“Oh, Caleb’s already working with the horses. What a responsible young man.”

Walter stopped chewing.

“What did you say?”

“I said he’s responsible.”

“You were looking at him.”

Margaret lowered her coffee cup.

“Walter, the window is made of glass. That’s generally how looking works.”

“You’ve been looking at that boy an awful lot.”

“I look at the chickens, too. Should I marry one?”

Walter stood up so abruptly that his chair fell backward.

“THAT’S IT!”

Margaret calmly buttered her toast.

“If you’re declaring war on the chickens again, please leave me out of it.”

But Walter was already marching outside.

Ten minutes later, he found Caleb repairing a damaged gate.

“Morgan!”

“Morning, Mr. Briggs.”

“You’re fired.”

Caleb blinked.

“Sir?”

“Pack your things. I want you gone before noon.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Walter crossed his arms.

“You’re distracting everybody.”

“With what?”

“Your face!”

Caleb stared at him.

Hank, standing nearby, made a strange choking sound.

“My… face?” Caleb repeated.

“Don’t act innocent! Women are arriving here every day for no reason. My workers are eating pie instead of working. Yesterday, the mayor’s wife asked if she could watch you clean a saddle!”

“I didn’t invite her, sir.”

“That’s exactly the problem! You don’t even have to invite them!”

Caleb slowly removed his hat.

“Mr. Briggs, I came here to work with horses. That’s all.”

“Well, you can work with horses somewhere else.”

Walter shoved two weeks of wages into his hand.

“Consider this a generous farewell.”

Caleb looked toward the stable, where several horses stood unusually quiet in their stalls.

His expression changed.

“Sir, before I leave, there’s something important I need to tell you about your herd.”

“I don’t want another word out of you.”

“But the horses—”

“OUT!”

Caleb hesitated.

Then he put his hat back on and walked away.

Walter watched him leave with enormous satisfaction.

“Finally,” he muttered. “Peace and quiet.”

He enjoyed that peace for precisely fourteen hours.

The following morning, Walter stepped outside and found Caleb standing beside the main stable.

He was wearing a clean blue shirt and holding a brand-new employment contract.

Walter’s jaw dropped.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

Caleb politely tipped his hat.

“Working, sir.”

“I FIRED YOU!”

“Yes, sir.”

“THEN WHY ARE YOU BACK?”

“Mrs. Briggs hired me.”

Walter slowly turned.

Margaret stood on the porch with a cup of coffee.

She looked remarkably pleased with herself.

“Good morning, dear.”

“MARGARET!”

“There’s no need to shout. The chickens are awake already.”

“YOU HIRED HIM BACK?”

“Certainly.”

“AFTER I FIRED HIM?”

“That’s generally what hiring someone back means.”

Walter’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato.

“And what’s this nonsense about a new contract?”

Margaret took a sip of coffee.

“I doubled his salary.”

For several seconds, Walter made no sound whatsoever.

Hank later described it as the happiest silence of his working life.

Then Walter exploded.

“DOUBLE HIS SALARY? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?”

Margaret set down her cup.

“No, Walter. But I am beginning to question yours.”

“You hired a man I dismissed because women keep coming to stare at him!”

“And you dismissed the only man on this ranch who knows what’s wrong with our horses.”

Walter frowned.

“What are you talking about?”

Margaret stepped off the porch.

“Caleb isn’t just a cowboy. He completed veterinary training in Missouri and holds a veterinary certificate. He’s worked with sick horses for years.”

Walter glanced at Caleb.

“You never told me that.”

Caleb looked uncomfortable.

“I tried yesterday, sir.”

Margaret continued.

“Three of our horses have stopped eating. Two have swollen glands. And the bay mare you bought last week has a fever.”

Walter’s stomach tightened.

“They’re just tired.”

“That’s what you said when the windmill broke. The horses aren’t windmills, Walter.”

Caleb stepped forward.

“Mr. Briggs, I believe we’re dealing with strangles. It’s a contagious disease. If we don’t separate the sick animals immediately, we could lose weeks of work and possibly some horses.”

Walter stared toward the stable.

He owned forty-six horses.

Several were valuable breeding animals.

And next month, he was supposed to deliver twelve healthy horses to a buyer in San Antonio.

It was the biggest contract of his year.

“How certain are you?” Walter asked quietly.

“Certain enough that I wouldn’t let any horse leave this property until we know more.”

For the first time in days, Walter forgot about Caleb’s handsome face.

“What do you need?”

“A separate holding area, clean water buckets, fresh bedding, and every stable hand following strict instructions.”

Walter nodded.

“Fine. You have it.”

Margaret folded her arms.

“And an apology.”

Walter glared at her.

“Margaret.”

“Walter.”

Hank coughed.

“Personally, boss, I think the apology’s cheaper than losing forty-six horses.”

Walter took a long breath.

Then he faced Caleb.

“Morgan… perhaps I was a little unreasonable.”

“A little?” Margaret asked.

“Don’t push your luck, woman.”

Caleb smiled.

“No hard feelings, sir.”

Unfortunately, that smile immediately attracted three women passing along the road.

“GOOD MORNING, CALEB!” they called together.

Walter closed his eyes.

“Lord, give me strength.”

Margaret laughed.

But Caleb wasn’t laughing.

He was looking toward the far paddock, where a black stallion had suddenly staggered against the fence.

His smile disappeared.

“Mr. Briggs,” he said sharply, “when did that black horse arrive?”

“Yesterday. Bought him from a traveling dealer. Why?”

Caleb hurried toward the fence.

He studied the animal, then looked at the row of neighboring stalls.

“Was he kept beside the other horses last night?”

“Of course.”

Caleb’s face went pale.

“Then we have a much bigger problem than I thought.”

Margaret followed him.

“What kind of problem?”

Before Caleb could answer, Hank came running from the stable.

“BOSS! You need to see this!”

Walter turned.

“What’s wrong now?”

Hank was holding a folded piece of paper he’d found tied beneath the black stallion’s saddle blanket.

There were only seven words written on it.

“KEEP THIS HORSE AWAY FROM OTHER ANIMALS.”

Walter felt the blood drain from his face.

Caleb stared at the warning.

Then he whispered something that made Margaret grip the fence.

“Mr. Briggs… I think somebody knew exactly what they were selling you.”