Follow a Wild Heart: A Christian Contemporary Western Romance Series

by Natalie Bright

  Nathan was pacing back and forth in front of the Rafter O headquarters when she stopped. He tossed her the keys to his truck. “We can take mine.”

  As they got closer to the river valley that dissects the Texas Panhandle, Nathan admired the flat, treeless ranch land turning to rolling hills. The scenery suddenly included trees on either side of them, the leafy green of new spring shading the two-lane blacktop. It was so different from the rolling pastures of the Rafter O Ranch. When Carli and Nathan drove up to the Travers home, a stone ranch building, Brad was in the side yard with a younger man throwing a rope loop around the horns of a dummy steer.

  “He sure has a lot of energy for an old guy,” Nathan said.

  Brad waved to Carli and Nathan as they got out of the truck.

  “Hey, guys, glad you made it. I see you had no problem with my directions?”

  “Well,” said Carli, “except for back there about a mile where you said there’d be a black horse in a corral. No black horse. We weren't sure whether to turn or not.”

  Brad let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot. About this time every day, they bring him in for some feed. At least the rest of the directions worked.”

  They all chuckled. The young man stepped forward with his hand outstretched. “Hey, I’m Tad. Theodore actually. Nice to meet you both.”

  “My grandson. We’re Brad and Tad.”

  Carli was polite, her lips still, but her eyes darted from one man to the other. Then her mouth erupted with laughter.

  “Grandpa loves to say that. I’ve been called Tad since I was little. Tadpole. Also short for Theodore.”

  “I know something about nicknames. I was never crazy about my real first name,” Carli said to the tall, lean, young man who looked like a younger version of his grandfather.

  “Oh, yeah, what’s that?”

  “Can’t tell you. I never say the name out loud, ever.”

  Again, more laughter all around. Then Brad noticed Nathan holding his shoulder.

  “Hey, how’re you doin’, man? You said on the phone that a green horse throwed ya. Dontcha know you’re supposed to stay on those things?”

  “He punched the breeze all right. When there’s a crazy coyote around, horses tend to act a bit spooky. I’ll be okay in a few days. Dislocated my shoulder and a little muscle sore is all.”

  “I hope you get better soon,” Brad said smiling.

  A petite woman with a long gray braid pulled to one side appeared at the door and called out, “Brad, bring our guests inside. Or do you want me to set up refreshments out there?”

  Nathan noticed her silver crutch with elbow support.

  “Tilly, we’ll come in, so it’ll be easier. I’ll help.” Then to Nathan and Carli, he said, “She’s the love of my life. C’mon, I want to introduce y’all.”

  For lunch, his wife had made some beef and bean tamales, salad, cornbread, and iced tea. Apple pie for dessert. Carli tried to offer to help, but Tilly would have none of it.

  “Please, sit. You’re our guests. It’s no trouble. I just made us a little lunch.”

  They all gathered around a long, wooden table that looked like it belonged in a castle—heavy, solid, immovable. Nicks and scratches marred the surface, but they only gave it personality. Nathan watched Carli run her fingers along the outside where there were intricate, carved scrolls. “This table is amazing. What kind of wood is it?” she asked.

  Brad smiled with an understated look of pride. “Mesquite. I made it right after we first married. It’s practically a member of the family.”

  His wife chimed in. “He made it with his own two hands.”

  All he said was, “Tilly,” with a tilt of his head, but not really a chastisement.

  “What? I’m proud of you. You worked hours on this table. It’s a work of art.”

  “That’s for sure.” Nathan was mesmerized. “Look at the variety of colors in this wood. It really is amazing work.” Leaning sideways in his chair he ran his fingers along the gleaming varnished surface and patterns and grooves along the sides. “These aren’t just for decoration. They’re people! Men with rifles.”

  Quietly Brad said, “It’s the Battle of the Alamo.”

  Nathan pushed his chair back some and looked at the carved scenes on the sides of the table near him. “Wow. I didn’t know you also did woodwork.”

  “An artist can dabble in many mediums. Art is all around us. It’s part of life, a reflection of our thoughts and emotions. An artist has no choice sometimes. It drives him...or her.” He winked at his wife. “If we don’t create art, we’ll dry up. We need to let our creativity come forth, express what’s inside of us. Or else, we’ll go crazy. You know what I’m talking about, Nathan, don’t you?”

  Nathan looked down at his hands and was a little embarrassed to have the spotlight on himself, but at the same time it was as though only he and Brad were in the room. Brad was speaking his language, right to Nathan’s heart, and he so badly needed to talk about it. For a few minutes, he hesitated. He had never revealed this part of himself before.

  “I know exactly what you mean. For years I’ve wanted to do my art full-time. But with the Rafter O and my responsibilities...” He hesitated, but then just admitted it. “My dad has high expectations and none of them include art. He doesn’t see how I could ever support myself, let alone a family.” He glanced at Carli.

  Tilly passed around the large salad bowl and her grandson almost started to dig in, but she touched his arm and said, “Let’s say the blessing. Brad?”

  “Yes, hon.” He smiled and took her hand and looked to everyone to join hands.

  “Or do you want Ryan to say it?” his wife asked.

  “Ryan’s not here, sweetie. I’ll say the blessing.”

  Grandson Tad glanced at Nathan and then looked down at his plate.

  Tilly’s voice filled the quiet kitchen. “Ryan’s not here. Ryan’s not here. Ryan, come back. Ryan, come back.”

  Nathan realized something was amiss as he noticed the empty place setting and looked at Carli who returned his glance, a smile frozen on his face. Always confident and sure, this was one time in his life Nathan had no idea what to do or say.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ignoring his wife’s chant, Brad Travers bowed his head. “Let us pray.” Tilly immediately turned silent.

  Nathan’s strong fist engulfed Carli’s petite hand as they all bowed their heads around the Travers' dining room table. Then Brad started. “Dear Lord, thank you kindly for bringing Nathan and Miss Carli to our home. We thank you for this bounty and for the blessings you bestow upon our family every day. We ask you to watch over Nathan and Carli and please give them the desires of their hearts. Let them also strive to stay in your good graces and use their gifts and talents for your glory. Bless this food and the hands that prepared it. Amen.”

  Carli smiled at Nathan as he released her hand.

  Brad dished out portions of beef brisket and passed plates. There were tamale fixings for those who wanted to wrap the meat in corn-based dough. Nathan helped himself to potato salad and pinto beans. The flavorful, tender beef touched his tongue and after he swallowed, he couldn’t help but say, “This is delicious. Thank you for inviting us.”

  Brad stuck a basket full of warm yeast rolls under his nose. “Take one. Nathan, to follow up on what you were telling me, sometimes you’ve got to own your destiny. Do what you feel is right for you—come hell or high water.” Looking to his wife, he said, “I’m blessed to have the support of my family.”

  “You can call me Nate, and I admire you for your commitment to the arts.” Nathan helped himself to another roll and passed the basket to Carli.

  “You’ve got to make a stand, Nate. I’m not saying to disobey or disrespect your father. But be honest with him, with everyone, with yourself. This is your life. Your dad is living his.”

  Nathan felt Brad's words pierce his heart as the others politely listened. He never denied the drive to learn all he could
about sculpting to himself but admitting that desire to others was the problem. He never imagined the possibility of actually being good enough to earn a living as an artist. It was easier to ignore any thoughts of a different life. The days were much more pleasant if he kept his mouth shut and followed along the Olsen family life's pathway. It had proved successful to many generations before he came along.

  “Eat up, everyone. Tilly made some good grub here. Nate, after lunch I want to show you something in the barn. We can talk more, and I can answer any questions you might have.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Silence descended on the diners for a few moments. Carli glanced cautiously at Tilly, smiled, and then asked, “How many kids do you have Mr. Travers?”

  “We’ve got two daughters and a son—all married and all have given us wonderful grandkids.”

  “Two sons,” Tilly interrupted.

  “Yes, dear, two sons.” He touched her hand. “Ryan is in heaven with Jesus, right hon?”

  She didn’t answer but stared blankly at the food on the table as though in her own dream state. Then she said, “Ryan is a decorated war hero. Served in Afghanistan. I still pray he’ll walk through that door one day.” She sounded perfectly lucid and alert. Nothing like the chanting from before.

  Brad held his wife’s hand and continued. “One daughter is a nurse, one is a teacher, and our son, Chad, is a rancher. Nate, there’s another case of a father wanting his son to follow him into the family business. Only, with me, I wanted my son to be an artist. He does have some natural talent at drawing. It soon became obvious though that he had other interests, so I turned over the cow and horse operation to him and I became a sculptor full-time. As life would have it, his son...our grandson, Tad, here, loves to paint and want to learn about sculpting. We couldn’t be prouder of all our kids and grands. God has surely blessed us.”

  Although it was a somewhat serious moment, his wife giggled and then in a sing-song, breathless chant, she said, “Brad, Chad, and Tad. Brad, Chad, and Tad. Brad, Chad, and Tad.”

  Nathan wasn’t sure what to do so he looked to each face for help with a proper response. Carli’s smile froze in place again.

  Despite the momentary awkward silence, everyone broke out in laughter. Brad cupped his wife’s cheek. “Oh, Tilly, you’re so cute.” She giggled like a teenaged girl.

  Nathan felt more comfortable and at home with Brad than with his own family. At least here he didn’t have to guard his every word or feel that his dad was watching and judging his work. It may not have been his father’s intention, but it was how Nathan felt. Here, with Brad, Nathan was connected as though he had finally found a kindred spirit.

  When lunch was over, Carli insisted helping Tilly clear the table and carry the dishes to the sink. Mrs. Travers was quite agile despite her limp and having to maneuver around the table and chairs using her crutch.

  “Let’s go to the barn, Nate. I’ve got something to show you,” Brad said.

  Nathan looked to Carli, and Brad added, “Miss Carli, you’re welcome to join us, too.”

  “It’s fine.” Carlie smiled. “I’ll visit with your wife and wash dishes if she doesn’t mind. I can catch up with you guys in a while.”

  Nathan touched her arm. “Thanks, Carli. See you in a minute.”

  The red barn wasn’t home to any animals. Instead, it was Brad’s studio. And when Nathan walked in, he couldn’t help his mouth from gaping open. Surveying the large, spacious room, he saw sculptures of all sizes and varying degrees of completion. Some were under tarps. There was also metal work, copper, black wrought iron, and steel. Tables and shelves held different tools. An acetylene torch was on one table along with the protective face mask and gloves. Nathan was very familiar with those.

  A large object stood on a platform in the center of the room covered by a tan tarp. Brad smiled at Nathan and climbed the ladder next to the scaffolding that fit around the project like a cage. He carefully picked up the bottom of the covering and carried it with him on his ascent. At the top, arms out to his sides, he flung the drape off of his creation letting part of the material rest on the metal housing.

  Before them stood a muscular, life-sized American Indian brave. One foot was propped up on a rock. The moccasin-clad foot on the ground was balancing on the ball and toes. The left arm was bent at the waist and the right arm was extended to the sky, fist open.

  “I want to put a spear in his right hand, so I’ve left the palm open,” Brad said simply.

  Nathan walked around the sculpture, head and eyes focused upward. “Why did you decide on him as your subject?”

  "Well, I love the West. And the many tribes have called the West home for centuries. I've always been interested in their culture. They have such strength. I wanted to show his strength and courage. And I wanted to strive to make him as lifelike as possible."

  Again, Nathan's mouth hung open in admiration. In the moment he forgot where he was, why he was there, the only reality being the figure that stood before him. So real, yet it was of clay. Nathan could only stand in silence. He finally managed to say, “This is incredible. How did you get the folds in his loincloth? And the six-pack abs? He almost looks alive.”

  “Well, now that’s the whole idea, isn’t it? I mean unless an artist is going for abstract. For some of us we want our subjects to look real. Did you ever hear what Michelangelo said about his marble sculptures?”

  “Yeah. He felt that the figure was fully formed inside the stone, and he was just chipping the rock away to set the image free.”

  Brad smiled. “Exactly. Fully formed. We want them to look real.”

  “I don’t know that I could ever do this. Make the stone, or bronze, look like material draping over his body.”

  “’Course you could, Nate. It’s called learning. There's a lot of research that goes into a piece before I even get my hands on the clay. I go to the library or online, look in books for inspiration, for topics, subjects. I calculate measurements. Then, it's trial and error. You get someone to teach you. And then you practice. You might throw a lot away. You might get angry and break stuff. But one day it all comes together. And then...” he said looking up at the Indian brave and holding his hands open and out to his sides, “and then, you have something like this. It’s an amazing feeling. Accomplishment. Poetry. Art. Then you’re done, and you go on to the next project.”

  “I don’t know.” Nathan shook his head.

  Brad climbed down to the floor and came over to Nathan, placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder.

  “And in case you missed the part about learning and teaching, here I am. Willing to teach.”

  “Why are you doing this for me?”

  “I see the passion burning in your eyes. Follow your art, Son. But, there’s just one catch,” Brad said, again with one of his frequent smiles.

  “I can pay for lessons. That’s no problem. I’d want to pay you for teaching me.”

  Brad was quiet for a few seconds. “Now, Son, don’t insult me. This is the older generation passing down what I know to the younger generation. In fact, I’m also teaching Tad so you are welcome to join us. But if you want to talk about money, I will. And it’s not you paying me. It would be the school paying you.”

  Nathan was totally confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been teaching classes at the community college. All kinds of art. I put on demonstrations, but I’m wanting to slow down. I’m seventy-five, you know, and I could use an apprentice.”

  Nathan was speechless. The turmoil in his mind running over and over was how would he explain this to his father. There would be consequences, no doubt about it.

  “You might’ve noticed my Tilly. She had a stroke a couple of years ago and also might have the onset of Alzheimer’s. Sometimes she forgets things like our son Ryan being gone. Luckily, she still knows me and Tad and our other kids. I want to be here more for her in our later years. This will get you off your ranch for a while and get you involved wi
th our local art community. Then when you have free time, come here and work with me and Tad.”

  Nathan never had his mouth open so much in one day without any words coming out.

  “I also work with a gallery in Santa Fe. It would help me to have someone who can be my liaison. Haul pieces for showings, stuff like that. It’s getting where I can’t leave Tilly by herself. If she can travel, we usually spend the summers there. You could use the guest room, be our house-sitter when we’re not in town.”

  Just then Tad entered the barn. “I heard my name, Grandpa. What’s going on?”

  Again, Brad’s smile lit up the room. “I was telling Nathan about my college class and also about him working with us here, like you and I discussed. You’re busy with high school.” Brad turned to Nathan. “He’s our youngest grandkid and a senior this year. I'm thankful for the opportunity to teach the next generation. What do you think? And you’re okay with Nathan hanging out here. Am I right, Tad?”

  “Right as rain, Grandpa. We can all learn from each other. Can we start now?”

  They all laughed. Nathan had to admit the young boy's enthusiasm was contagious.

  Brad grabbed Tad around the shoulders almost in a wrestling move. “How’d I get so lucky to have a grandson like you, Mr. Theodore?”

  Tad grinned and hugged his grandpa. “Must be your right living. God is rewarding you.”

  “I didn’t always live so right, Tad. You know the old stories.”

  Nathan was still a bit in shock and finally found his tongue. “I can’t thank you enough, Brad. Are you sure about all of this?”