Follow a Wild Heart: A Christian Contemporary Western Romance Series

by Natalie Bright

  Carli thought Billy Broderick was out of her life since his now ex-wife had set fire to the barn soon after the judge ruled in Carli’s favor to inherit the Wild Cow. She remembered the brash temper-fit Billy had pitched at the hearing when she was declared the rightful heir. If his behavior was considered normal with the kind of men he hung out with, then she definitely did not want anything to do with his best friend—and her birth father—Taylor Miller. Were they alike? Overbearing jerks? Asking anything of Billy Broderick would be an impossibility. The man hated her and would probably go to his grave cursing the day she was born. How ironic the one person who prevented Billy Broderick from owning the ranch was actually the long-lost heir fathered by his childhood friend, J.T.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Nathan pulled to a stop in front of Carli’s house, she looked like a young schoolgirl rocking in an oversized porch chair and scrolling through her phone. Her head raised and he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. He'd been looking forward to spending the day with her all week. In one smooth motion, she stood, slung a huge tote bag on to one shoulder, skipped over the porch steps, and jogged to his pickup truck.

  “Hey,” she said, bringing with her a radiant smile of sunshine, eyes sparkling with laughter, and the smell of something sweet mixed with musk. She wore her Grandma Jean’s turquoise boots with her pants tucked in the high tops. Fringe swung from the sleeves of a brown suede jacket as she stepped up into his pickup truck.

  “We need to talk.” The smile suddenly disappeared, and the tone of her voice dashed any hopes he had of the day ending with kisses.

  Nathan hesitated for a moment. There was something he needed to tell her too. “Yes, we do. I have something to ask you.”

  She settled into the seat beside him. Dug in her oversized leather bag and swiped her lips with gloss before placing the tote in the back seat because it wouldn’t fit in the floorboard next to her feet. Why in the world would she need to bring a purse that big for an afternoon in Amarillo? Before stepping on the accelerator, he looked over at her. She turned to face him, pulling one leg onto the seat.

  “Don’t tell anyone…” They said in unison and then laughed.

  “Ladies first,” Nathan said.

  “Okay.” Carli looked down at her lap and cleared her throat. “Have you told anybody about my birth father?”

  Nathan slowly let out the breath he'd been holding. At least this wasn’t going to be a "let’s be friends" talk. “I meant to ask Dad, but honestly I forgot about it.”

  “Good. Don’t say anything. I’m doing the research on my own and you’re the only one who knows the name. I want to keep it to myself for a while.”

  “Not a problem. I can keep your secret.”

  “Now you.” Carli turned her full attention on him, piercing him with those hazel eyes, making him forget what they were even talking about. He studied her face for several moments.

  “You had something you wanted to say?” she reminded him.

  Nathan put the car in drive and slowly accelerated. “I haven’t told Dad about my interest in taking my metal work to the next level. Actually, no one in my family knows how important it is to me. Don’t mention it to anyone. I’d never hear the end of it, if they all knew we were spending the afternoon in a gallery. And, by the way if anybody asks, this was your idea.”

  The sound of her laughter filled the pickup cab and made him smile despite the seriousness of his request. His father had his future already mapped out. As the oldest of five kids, Nathan never wanted to disappoint his father, but the responsibilities of being an Olsen sometimes felt like an anchor around his neck. She nodded her head and spun around to face forward in her seat. “Don’t worry, if anybody asks, I’ve got your back. This reminds me of a Country song. That’s your story and you’re sticking to it.”

  “Good to know I can rely on you, Carli.” Nathan wanted to say they could be even more but didn’t. He was afraid to push her away before they'd even begun. “I’m impressed you know the words to a Country song.” They both chuckled. He could get used to the sound of her laugh.

  “How can life be so simple and so complicated at the same time?” she added.

  Nathan agreed. “That’s an understatement.” He knew what was tossing his insides into such a jumble. Nothing new. He’d been walking a tightrope his whole life. He knew his dad expected him to do the ranch business, take it over, be the head of the family when his parents were gone, and carry on the Olsen legacy. But Nathan wanted to do other things. Pursue his own dreams. The ranch was his dad’s dream. More and more he noticed that every minute he spent at the Rafter O made him even more resentful, but this was his lot in life. The only solution he could see was to keep his thoughts to himself and do the work expected of him.

  Driving to the Art Museum of the Texas Plains, Nathan felt her watching him.

  “You’re like a kid on Christmas morning,” she said.

  It was true. He'd been waiting months for this event. “Some of my favorite artists may be there.” He told her about the different sculptors he followed, how they started out in their careers, the obstacles they faced, and the success they eventually achieved. Even though he had never met any of them, he felt they were his kindred spirits.

  Nathan glanced at her face for any signs he might be blowing his chance to spend many more dates like this with her. But Carli’s occasional nods and questions encouraged him to keep going. Once he started talking about his passion for metal work, he couldn’t stop. Most girls could care less, but Carli genuinely seemed interested.

  “Sorry if I’m boring you, Carli. Thanks for coming with me.” After talking her ear off for the first hour of their drive, he finally asked, “How are things at the Wild Cow?”

  “Things are good. Which reminds me, opening day of the riding school is the first Saturday of April. You should be there. Did I tell you I spread the word through social media? I’ve had some great response. Even got a few release forms filled out and spots reserved.”

  “This all began with the crazy girl in the coffee shop, didn’t it?” he commented as he exited off the interstate and stopped at a red light.

  “It may have planted the idea, but I gave riding lessons in Georgia. The show horse ring was intense though. This will be more fun, I think. And don’t call her crazy. I know just how she feels.”

  “Sorry. I’ll try to be there.” His voice sounded hollow because he knew his father would have other plans for him, especially if he found out there was something Nathan wanted to do. He pushed his irritation away and focused on the day ahead. “This is the place. I hope you’re not too bored.”

  “Nate, why would I be bored? Don’t apologize for talking about something you love. I told you I love art, too. I used to always visit one bronze sculpture of a cowgirl at the Booth Western Art Museum in Georgia. I’ve never told anybody this, but I couldn’t afford anything for my house, so I used to hang the ads from a magazine on my wall and pretend I actually owned the original artwork the ad promoted. Take a deep breath and let’s go in. I’m thrilled to be here and I’m glad you asked me.”

  “As a ranch owner, art is a smart investment. You should consider buying some new pieces for headquarters. You can afford it.”

  “There is hardly an inch of wall space left in my grandparents' house, but I have to admit it would be nice to add to their collection. I’ll think about it.”

  Nathan parked and hopped out of the truck. Carli called out to him. “Nate! Your keys! Don’t leave them in the ignition.”

  “Darn. I'm a little distracted.” He reached back into the vehicle and shoved the keys into his pocket.

  “C’mon, Nate, it’ll be okay.” They both laughed. She grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the front entrance, and he willingly followed, hoping she’d never let go.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nathan and Carli walked into the cool air of the Art Museum of the Texas Plains. Nathan breathed in the space. A faint smell of floral air freshener mixe
d with the quiet and beauty. There really wasn’t any atmosphere like that of creativity and history. High quality treasures, artwork by talented masters, created by unexplained gifts no other human possesses or by an obsession that is impossible to understand.

  “I like it here,” he said. “I feel like I’m walking into an institute of higher learning or Carnegie Hall to hear a famous musician. Artists can create such works from nothing. They didn't exist before.”

  “I’ve never thought of it that way," Carli said. "The power to make something of unbelievable beauty must be intoxicating. I don’t have a creative bone in my body.”

  The front-desk receptionist handed Nathan a brochure that showed a numbered map for the museum sections—photography, paintings, prints, Native American art, pioneer artifacts, drawings, sculptures, Asian art, and a collection of Tibetan miniature paintings, all housed in three stories. There would be a lot to see.

  Flashing his best smile at the young lady near the front door, Nathan asked, “I heard there might be a sculpting demonstration. Could you please tell me where that's located?”

  The twenty-something volunteer with orange hair behind the desk was rather exuberant. “Outside there are some really cool abstract sculptures. Kinda funky. I think you’ll like them. They’re welded steel and painted. The sculpting demonstration area is in the main hall to your right on the second floor.” She pointed to the map.

  “That’s exactly what we want to see. Is there a demonstration today?”

  “Some of the artists are supposed to be here. One was doing a presentation yesterday. I’m not sure what's on the schedule for today’s event. They come and go as they have time. Some of them conduct workshops at their own studios by appointment. You might want to look into that.”

  He turned to Carli. “Do we need to rent a stroller for that purse?”

  Carli laughed. The receptionist hid her smile behind a hand.

  “Funny guy. C’mon, Nate.” She looped her bag over one shoulder and tossed a big smile back at him. He chuckled and followed her to the elevator.

  As the doors closed Nathan couldn’t hide his disappointment. “I thought for sure one of the sculptors was supposed to be here today.”

  “Well, maybe there will be. Just hang on until we get up there.”

  The glass doors opened to show an expansive room, polished hardwood floors. A few people slowly glided from one artwork to the next in quiet appreciation.

  Nathan walked closer to a small replica of a larger bronze by a cowboy artist whose career he had followed for several years. The sculptor was well known for creating a fifteen-foot bronze of a world champion bucking horse. This piece stood about three feet and showed a cowboy hanging on for dear life. The detail of the horse's muscles and tack, the look of sheer determination on the cowboy’s face, was surreal. Next to the replica was a plaque with words by an unknown writer:

  “Be fearless in the pursuit of what sets your soul on fire.”

  Perhaps the quote was meant for bronc riders, but Nathan wondered if this was true of his life. Somedays his insides tossed around in a constant jumble. He knew his dad wanted him to commit to the Rafter O, take it over, be the head of the family enterprise when his parents retired. But Nathan wanted to do other things. Pursue his own dreams. The Olsen ranch was his dad’s dream, and the culmination of dedicated work by his great-grandfather and grandfather. Was it wrong he didn’t feel the same? If he lived someone else’s dream, what kind of life would that be? It would be like throwing his own away. But how could he tell his father? How could he disappoint him? Nathan stood frozen in place staring at the bucking bronc until Carli broke through his thoughts.

  “Let’s go this way.” She grabbed his hand again.

  Shaking the worries from his brain, Nathan led the way as they continued to stroll through the exhibit, stare at the sculptures, and read the descriptions next to each. He was in art heaven.

  Nathan read aloud about how bronze sculpting dated back to ancient civilizations. And how the “lost-wax” casting and section molding techniques were used to make larger sculptures. He wondered if he sounded like a reference library, but it felt so good to have someone at his side who he could share his passion with. Carli stood close, listening. They still held hands and she didn’t pull away.

  “I want to learn everything about this,” he told Carli as he looked at the bronze carefully, taking note of every contour, wrinkle, and detail.

  A slight, tanned-faced man with a handlebar mustache was suddenly behind them and quietly asked, “Are you an artist?”

  Without turning around Nathan answered, “I try to be.”

  “That’s one of my pieces you’re looking at.”

  Nathan gasped and turned. The man’s face was wrinkled and weathered, obviously from time spent outdoors, and probably in the saddle from the looks of him. No one could put that much detail in bronze to depict an animal’s power unless he’d been involved personally. Crow’s feet and wrinkled neck and hands were evidence of his years. A starched white, Western-styled shirt with pearlized snap-buttons finished off his gentleman’s attire, complete with leather bolo tie fastened by a hunk of turquoise stone and silver clasp. Caiman-belly, handmade Lucchese boots were shined like mahogany.

  The man smiled at Nathan. “'I try to be' is not the right answer to my question, Son. You either are or you ain’t. What’s it gonna be?”

  Nathan found his tongue tied. He stood there. No one had asked him that question before. Unsure, Nathan couldn’t answer so the man spoke again. “I apologize. Don’t mean to be nosy. Just wanted to know if you were one of us.”

  “One of you?” Nathan was a bit perplexed.

  “Artists. Are you one of us?”

  Nathan chuckled. “I guess I am, sir. I work with metal and other things, but I have a lot to learn. How did you know?”

  “I thought as much by the way you were studying that sculpture. Only artists can look at something so intently.” The stranger tipped his cowboy hat and said in a real friendly tone, “Ma’am. I’m Brad Travers, artist. I’m gonna be doing a little demo about working with bronze here in a bit, if y'all would like to stay.”

  Carli and Nathan both shook the hand extended to them. Nathan couldn’t hide his surprise. “I’m Nathan and this is Carli. It’s great to meet you. You’re Brad Travers? I really admire your work.”

  “That’s me. In the flesh. And thank you kindly, young man, for your high praise.”

  Mr. Travers commenced to pin a microphone on his lapel, with the help of a museum employee. Carli and Nathan sat on the first row of a semi-circle of chairs.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please gather ’round, get yorselves comfortable. There are some benches at the edge of the chairs if you need to sit. Thanks for coming out today. I won’t actually be able to pour bronze here. After all, this ain’t a foundry, right?” His mustache spread as he smiled at the people.

  The museum worker stepped forward. “I need to introduce you first,” she whispered. The small group of art patrons chuckled. Brad removed his hat and took a bow.

  “Brad Travers is a world-renown sculptor," the lady started. "He has won many prestigious designations including the American Art Awards, the National Academy of Western Art awards in Oklahoma City, and is an honorary member of The Royal Society of Sculptors in the U.K., just to name a few. His monumental sculptures are displayed in many art museums, colleges, and other public buildings around the country. He lives right here in our area with his wife and family. Please help me welcome master artist, Mr. Brad Travers.”

  “First, to start things off proper like, I am Brad Travers and I am an artist.” He looked directly at Nathan who froze. He’d never said those words aloud in his life and Nathan wondered if he’d ever consider himself worthy enough to introduce himself that way.

  “I’ve been an artist for some fifty years. Although I must admit, for many of those years I was a starving artist. And had to take some other jobs like ranch hand, high school art te
acher, even janitor. I’ve spent lots of time in the saddle pushing cows because ya gotta do whatcha gotta do to pay the bills, especially if you have a wife and kids to feed.” As Travers talked more, people wandered closer, filling the seats. He paused to let a handful sit down.

  The artist continued, “I’ve been doing art things my whole life. Sometimes painting, sometimes mixed media, woodwork, metal art, and finally bronze sculptures. It’s my passion, almost my reason for being on this earth. Although I must give credit where credit is due. If I wasn’t able to do art, for whatever reason, I’m certain the Good Lord would have given me some other wonderful job to do. He always has the best plan, and He wants us to have the desires of our hearts. But for me, I couldn’t deny the tug to create. I’d like to show y’all a video about the process and I’ll be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

  Nathan had to keep a check on his tongue while the video played. A million and one questions came to mind. At the end, several people politely raised their hands. Nathan’s gut burned with impatience. He knew this was his calling. But how do you create something so complicated? Where could he even begin?

  As the video rolled, Travers narrated through all the steps: sculpting in clay, making a mold, pouring the wax, the “lost wax” casting method which dates back to early Egyptian dynasties, he explained, pouring the bronze, patina. Nathan couldn’t take his eyes away from the video. He watched with total concentration.

  “It was good meeting you both.” Travers walked over to Nathan and Carli after the crowd had thinned. He placed a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “I see the passion burning in your eyes. Follow your art, Son. I hope one day I’ll come to visit your sculptures in a museum like this. Here’s my card. You should come out to the studio. I’ll give you the dollar tour.”