Follow a Wild Heart: A Christian Contemporary Western Romance Series Natalie Bright (most popular novels .TXT) 📖

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