“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 mixed 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
