My UnTrue Love (A Kinda Fairytale #7)

Chapter Two

This coyote had a sweetheart,

A girl both light and fay,

She thought that they would never part,

But he would never stay.

Lyrics from the folk song “Crossroads Coyote”

Pecos Bill was waiting for Clementine when she stalked outside. The desert was always cool after the sun went down and it seemed even more frigid than usual. She stood in the chilly air for a long moment, trying to calm herself. It didn’t work. Tears were threatening to fall.

Her damp gaze went over to Bill.

He was leaning against the porch post, a cold cigarette in his mouth. He’d quit smoking about a week after they met, but he occasionally sought the feel of an unlit one between his lips. He raised both eyebrows at her, taking in her miserable face.

It was easy for Clem to hear the words he didn’t say, so she understood his silent question. She blew out a sigh and rubbed at her eyes. “I’m fine.”

Bill shifted, because he didn’t believe that. He wanted to comfort her. She read his expression and small movements like a book. It had always been that way between them. From the minute they met, she’d felt connected to Bill.

“I’m fine .” Clementine repeated, waving him back. She didn’t want to embarrass him by weeping all over his chest.

Although, it was a tempting idea. He had a wonderful chest. Bill wasn’t overly tall or broad. He was just right . Looking at him always made her feel simultaneously very safe and very… stimulated.

“I just wasn’t expecting that to happen, in there.” She swallowed and angrily shrugged on her jacket. “I can’t believe Johnny just fired me!”

“Can’t you?” The words were sardonic.

“No. I trusted Johnny.” She wrapped her multicolored scarf around her neck, wishing she felt warmer. The freeze seemed to come from inside of her heart. “I thought it would always be Johnny and Clementine.”

“You were his.” Bill watched her without blinking. “He was never yours. You finally see that?”

Clementine closed her eyes and nodded, because she did see it. After her parents died, she’d needed Johnny. She’d loved her foster family, especially her new big brothers, but it had still been a hard time for her. Adjusting to a different school, away from the mining camp, had been especially difficult. She and Johnny had shared the unpopular kids’ lunch table, all through high school. They’d clung to each other.

As the years went on, he wanted to forget that old, awkward Johnny and that was the Johnny that Clem cared about most. She’d been sensing their growing distance for a long while.

“Can you leave him behind?” Bill asked bluntly.

Clementine inhaled a deep breath.

She was a muse. She loved to inspire and create. Her magic was delicate. It didn’t make art, but it helped the ideas flow and coalesce. It added that little extra ka-pow! She loved to be part of the creative process. Loved to generate ideas and watch them grow. It was how she found fulfillment.

A muse’s magic didn’t work with everyone, though. It had to be a good fit. You couldn’t force someone to be your partner. There was no magic strong enough for that. Johnny didn’t want her help anymore. He wanted to go alone. And she had to keep making music. Which meant she needed to move on without him.

It all made sense to her so quickly that she realized Bill was right. She wasn’t terribly surprised this had happened. Clementine hadn’t wanted to admit how bad things were getting, but it was hard not to notice Johnny and Rosalee pushing her aside. Deep down, she’d sensed that she no longer had a place in The Yellow Roses.

The loneliness had threatened to consume her, at first. Clementine was a very social person. She liked being around people and working collaboratively. Since the album dropped, there had been no music between her and Johnny, though. No inspiration. He had been her closest friend for years and the only artist she’d ever worked with, so their dwindling connection had been a shock.

Johnny barely seemed to notice the separation, though. Slowly, Clementine had gotten used to it, too. She was hurt and a little scared, but her magic was free of him. She was free of him.

“I’ve already left him behind.” Clementine whispered. “Now, I just have to find my footing.”

Bill’s eyes gleamed. “Take your time.”

Clementine looked out at the street, as a tumbleweed rolled by. She could see the silhouettes of cacti and mountains in the distance. Red River Valley was a music town. In the Saloon District, flashy venues and neon signs lit up the night. This part of the city was filled with recording studios. It wasn’t nearly so well-lit or populated. It was right on the edge of the vast desert, so the stars seemed endless overhead, like glittering spotlights.

Clementine had fought so hard to find a place in Red River Valley, building The Yellow Roses and nurturing Johnny’s talent. She wasn’t about to give up her dreams and leave this town.

“I belong here.” She whispered.

“You do. Right here, next to me.”

“Yes, we both belong here.” She agreed staunchly, happy to seize on something concrete that she could fix. She liked to fix things. It was part of being a muse. “What were you thinking, quitting like that? My God, Bill, you just tanked your whole career.”

“Nothin’ else to do but quit. The band’s over.”

He’d said the same thing inside. He’d leaned closer to her ear and murmured, “It’s over with him, darlin’. You did all you could. Come on with me, now.”

The coaxing invitation and the unexpected endearment had startled her out of her careening anger. He’d helped her. She had to help him, in return. Clementine looked into his pale blue eyes and pushed aside her own crushing sadness.

Bill was in trouble.

He’d quit The Yellow Roses out of loyalty to her. That touched Clem more than anything else ever had. But it wasn’t like he was rich or loaded down with job offers. How was he going to pay his rent?

“You really should have thought this through.” She chided again, wanting to focus on something productive.

“Oh, I’ve thought about it plenty. Believe me.”

Clementine sighed. Bill was such a wonderful friend and so talented. There was only one way to help him. “We need to find you another band to join.”

“Nope.”

That startled her. “You must play. It would be an absolute crime to stifle your gifts.”

“I’ll play, just not in a band. Had enough of those.”

Her eyes searched his face, reading all the words he didn’t say. “You didn’t like working with Johnny much, did you?”

“Nope.”

“Why did you stay in The Yellow Roses this long, then?”

“The benefits attracted me.”

That was fair. The band provided health insurance. Clementine wasn’t sure how she’d afford her medication, now. God, what was she going to do?

“Johnny didn’t used to be like,” she gestured helplessly towards the studio, “ this .”

Bill grunted.

“He didn’t!” She insisted, translating that sound to be a vehement disagreement. Bill talked a lot, if you listened. “The album’s success has gone to his head.” She ran a hand through her blonde hair. “Maybe he’ll eventually snap out of it.”

“You ain’t going back to him.” Bill made it sound like a certainty.

It was a certainty. There had to be trust between a muse and the artist she chose to work with. Once that was gone, no more art could be created between them. And she no longer trusted Johnny. Some part of her had gone cold to him forever.

Clementine sniffed back tears, because The Yellow Roses had been her home and now she had none. “Um…” She forced herself to concentrate on the bigger issue. “So, if you don’t want to join a new band, maybe you could book some solo gigs.”

Bill lazily shrugged. “Fine.”

Where, though? Bill wasn’t great at making connections and the music business was about people. “Rosalee is the band’s manager. I can talk to her. It would only be fair if she helped you establish yourself, considering…”

Bill cut her off. “Nope.”

“You don’t like working with Rosalee either?”

“Nope.”

“You used to.” The words were out before she could stop them. “When she first arrived, you flirted with her.”

Rosalee was the only other person Clementine had ever seen him want to interact with. It had bothered her to watch him talking to such a sophisticated woman. Somewhere along the line, Clem had come to view Pecos Bill as hers .

Bill straightened away from the porch post and moved closer. “I got no dreams of Rosalee. You have my word.”

Clementine lifted a shoulder, feeling sorry for herself. “She’s very pretty.” A willowy, old-money, dark-haired beauty, who would never, ever be mistaken for a saloon girl. Not like Clementine so often was. As with most muses, Clem was all curves and curls and over-the-top femininity.

She puffed out a breath, looking down at her own plump body. She couldn’t be sophisticated, in a million years of trying.

“Clem, I don’t like Rosalee.” Bill repeated firmly. “I don’t like that she undercuts your authority.” His voice went harsher than usual. “I don’t like that Johnny lets her.”

“Rosalee has a lot of experience in the business.” At least that’s what Clementine tried to tell herself, whenever she’d felt slighted.

“Johnny’s fucking her.”

Clementine blinked, both at the news and the blunt wording. “He is?” She made a face. “Well, shows what I know. I thought he was interested in Susannah Alabama.”

“He’s fucking her, too. On the sly, so Rosalee won’t find out.”

“No! Really?” Clem was a little bit scandalized by that news.

“Yep. I seen their text messages. You wanna see ‘em? I took some screenshots, just in case.”

“In case of what? You decide to blackmail him?” She was kidding, but Bill answered her seriously.

“‘Corse not. Why, Johnny doesn’t have a single thing I want. …Not anymore.” His mouth curved a bit. “I just find it useful to have information that folks would rather I didn’t have. I’m a curious soul.”

Clem supposed that made sense. Bill was an artist and artists were always questioning. “Well, their whole triangle is not going to end well. It’s exactly why a manager shouldn’t sleep with her clients. It muddles everything. Don’t you think?”

“Depends on if she’s the one.”

“If she’s his True Love, you mean?” Clementine considered that, unsurprised by Bill’s romantic thought. He was so sensitive. “I guess she could be Johnny’s True Love. That would make a difference, yes. But that would make him fooling around with Susannah Alabama even worse.”

“Rosalee’s not his True Love. Coyotes steal True Loves, so we’re good at sniffing out who a girl belongs to.”

Clementine rolled her eyes at that tall tale.

Bill arched a brow at her doubtful expression. “Don’t believe me, huh?”

She shook her head. “True Loves don’t get ‘stolen.’ They’re thrilled with their destined mate.”

At least that’s what people said. Nearly everyone was born with a True Love, who would allegedly bring them happily-ever-happiness. Good folks wouldn’t know their True Love until they slept with them, while Bad folks recognized their fated mate on sight.

Honestly, Clem thought the whole True Love thing was probably overrated. She wasn’t actively hunting the super-special guy that fate wanted her to marry. If he showed up, great! If he didn’t, she’d be just fine.

Good and Bad designations seemed silly to her, too. Tests were run on most people to check on their potential for villainy. Clem and Johnny had both tested Good. But Bill and one of her foster brothers had been designated Bad, when she’d never known either of them to do one wicked thing. The whole system was hogwash, and she put zero stock in it.

Personal choice was all that mattered to Clementine. A person had to choose who to be with and choose how to behave. Anything else was an abdication of freedom.

Bill watched her. “You’re not Johnny’s True Love, either. Not sure if you knew that.”

“Of course I knew it.” She wrinkled her nose. “I was attracted to Johnny when I was younger, but he didn’t reciprocate for long. We kissed a few times…”

Bill’s jaw flexed.

“…That was the extent of it, though. It’s why we work together so well. Because there’s no underlying romantic feelings left between us.” She stopped and corrected herself. “Why we worked together so well.”

He looked relieved by that summation.

“You’re the one I’m worried about, Bill. Johnny can take care of himself, but you need to find a manager. You have no idea how many unsavory people there are in the music business.” She held up a palm before he could protest. “You’re an honest man. You don’t understand how deceptive some folks are. A manager makes sure you’re not taken advantage of. You’re getting one and that’s final.”

“I already got a manager. I’m hirin’ you.”

She blinked. “Me? I’m just a muse.”

“I’m not fancy enough for a muse.” He sounded certain. “I want a manager. Someone who can ensure I’m not swindled by them deceitful fellas, you’re talkin’ about. I can pay you part of what I make. Fifty percent sound about right?”

“No, that’s too high!”

“Equal split.”

Good Lord, he was going to be eaten alive, if she didn’t help him. “You don’t have to give me any money. I’ll help you find work, just because we’re friends.”

“Nope.”

Clementine hesitated. That “nope” had been the firmest one yet. Paying her was clearly important to Bill. He was a proud man. “How about ten percent?”

“Fifty.”

“Fifteen?”

“Fifty.”

“That is not how you negotiate!”

“Forty-nine.”

“ This is why you need someone to look out for you. Because you’re going to be fleeced in this town.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “We’ll settle on twenty-five. That’s over what managers usually get and I’m not even a professional.”

He didn’t look thrilled, but he nodded. “Alright.”

“Then, you’ve got yourself a manager.” Clementine felt an unexpected rush of excitement, mixed with fear.

There had to be a way to get Bill on a stage, where the right people could see him. She was exhausted from the emotional fallout of the evening, but her mind was bursting with new ideas. Warmth returned to her chest. She suddenly hadn’t felt so inspired in a long time.

“Are you willing to sing?”

“Nope.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“Some duchess in Nottingham kidnapped me to sing at her wedding, a couple years back. I escaped when the castle exploded.”

She laughed at that silly story. “You have such a great sense of humor. I wish everyone else could see that.”

“Oh, I keep it hidden, alright.”

He kept so much of himself hidden away. “It can be hard to make friends.” She told him in deep understanding.

Bill made a considering face. “It’s an ongoin’ challenge for me. No doubt.”

“I think maybe you open up to me, more than other people.”

He met her eyes. “I do.” He allowed quietly.

Artists felt comfortable with muses, even when they’d never collaborated. It was instinctual. With Bill, that instinct seemed to be magnified. Exponentially magnified. If they were working in the studio, he stayed right beside Clementine. They ate meals together, and talked together, and he would even smile at her. He was very private, but he seemed to enjoy being with her.

Goodness knew Clementine enjoyed being with him. Bill was a brilliant artist and a devoted friend.

Also, he was very handsome.

She tried not to notice that, because it was unprofessional to rapturously gaze at your colleague’s ass, no matter how great it looked in blue jeans. She didn’t want to make Bill uncomfortable. He was such a gentleman. He would never have deviant, sexual thoughts about a friend. Not like Clementine did when she ogled him.

She cleared her throat. “Sometimes a performer has to lay his emotions bare. Pull from something real and raw inside of him. That’s what puts the extra-specialness into a song. The ka-pow! ” She gave him an encouraging smile. “I know it’s difficult for you to be vulnerable.”

Bill frowned. “I’m not vulnerable.”

“You have to harness emotions to create great art.” Clementine stressed, anticipating his instinctive denial. He needed some time to come to grips with his profound feelings. “I see such amazing potential in you, Bill. If you express your inner world, you’ll be a star.”

“I’m never gonna be a star, Clem. All I do is play guitar.”

“No, you play guitar better than anyone else in Red River Valley .”

“You were serious about that, earlier?” He demanded, incredulous now. “I figured you were just screwin’ with Johnny, when…” He broke off for half a second. “No. You’re too sweet to deliberately screw with anybody.”

“What a nice thing to say!”

He made a seesawing hand gesture, like his words could be interpreted either way.

Clementine wasn’t deterred. “You are the best musician in town. A natural, amazing, once-in-a-lifetime talent.”

Bill stared at her, saying nothing.

She wrinkled her nose. “I should warn you… I’m ambitious.”

He gave himself a shake, like he was clearing his head. “Well, who’d hire a manager who isn’t?”

“Some people don’t like ambition. Especially in a woman. But it’s just who I am and you should be prepared for it, since we’re partners now.”

The word “partner” had his mouth curving upward at one corner. “I support women being whatever they like. Don’t worry. I know what I’m getting into.”

“I will be really pushy about your career.” She stressed. “If I push you too hard, you’ll have to let me know, because I will be completely blind to it. I have so much faith in you. I think everyone should hear you play and that’s what I’m going to make happen.” She paused and then immediately started pushing. “And it would be easier to book jobs if you sang.”

“Probably be easier to book me jobs, if I juggled penguins on a unicycle. …But I can’t do that, either.”

Clementine sighed. Bill was so, so gifted. And so, so stubborn. She constantly nudged him towards center stage, but he constantly resisted. Like all great artists, he was temperamental. She needed to be patient.

“Okay.” She soothed. “For now, we’ll find you a gig where all you do is play guitar . For now . It won’t be glamorous, at first.”

“I’m not goin’ nowhere. Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. I can play anything.”

“Good. So tomorrow, we’ll see my…” She broke off, suddenly feeling lightheaded. “Sorry.” She blinked away the dots that flashed in front of her eyes and kept going. “One of my grandmother’s old friends is…”

“Did you take your medicine?” He interrupted.

“Yes, I took my medicine.” Clementine’s tone was a mixture of exasperation and affection. “You set a timer for it, remember?”

He was a tyrant about her pills. If Bill was with her, he’d hand her the bottle before the alarm on his phone even sounded. If she wasn’t with him, she got a text reminding her to take them herself. Often several texts, until she responded that she’d swallowed the little blue tablets.

It was very thoughtful of him to take an interest in her health. He was such a supportive person.

“You look like you’re gonna faint.” He moved forward to wrap an arm around her waist, steadying her.

“I hardly ever do that. Only when I’m under stress. Yes,” she agreed, reading his expression and answering his silent complaint, “this situation has been a little stressful, but I’m fine. I promise. No fainting.”

He didn’t seem appeased. “You’ve gotta rest.” His hand found the small of her back and he urged her down the sidewalk. “I’ll walk you home.”

Bill walked her home every night. It used to be that Johnny did it, because they were roommates. But ever since Rosalee came along, Johnny stayed at the studio later and later. Frustrated and tired, Clementine once decided to walk home alone. Exactly once. Then Bill found out about it and hit the roof.

He didn’t yell or anything. Bill wasn’t a yeller. But the man had been furious . She could see it all over his face, especially when he looked over at Johnny. She’d been very worried about Bill’s artistic temperament leading him into a fight. He could be hurt! She’d promised she’d never walk home alone again, mostly just to calm him down and keep him safe.

After that, every single night, Bill made sure he left when she did, and Clementine didn’t even bother to protest. She hadn’t wanted to protest. She enjoyed walking with Bill. Hopefully, he wouldn’t get tired of seeing her so much, because she really was around him a lot.

Clementine pushed back a handful of her unruly hair. “You’re sure it’s not too much of a bother?”

“I’m positive, darlin’.”

She liked that he’d started calling her that. It was a dumb reaction, because lots of people used nicknames, right? It didn’t really mean anything. But it still made her feel very valued. She looked up at his angular profile and smiled.

God, he was so handsome.

As usual, Bill slowed his steps, so he could position himself between Clementine and the buildings to their left. There were thin alleyways between the warehouses, filled with the flotsam and jetsam of various recording studios. Somehow, all sorts of strange things seemed to wash up in this part of Red River Valley. Bill watched every alleyway they passed. He was probably worried about her tripping over an old box or some broken equipment.

Such a considerate man.

Something moved in one of the alleys. Bill paused for a beat, glaring into the darkness. The sound slowed. His head tilted dangerously. The sound stopped. He grunted and kept moving.

“Was it a rat?” She asked.

“In a manner of speaking.” He muttered. “I’m glad we're not working around here anymore. I still can’t believe Johnny okayed renting a studio in this neighborhood. He knew you’d be leaving here at night and there’s all kinds of dangerous… things… in the dark.”

“Well, Johnny had his heart set on that new amp. We couldn’t afford it and a nicer space.” She frowned. “Then the amp somehow disappeared, right out of Johnny’s room.”

“Strange things happen.” Bill said philosophically. “Especially to assholes.”

“I suppose. Johnny was crushed about it, though.” She sighed. “Bad luck, I guess.”

Bill muttered something under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothin’. Coyotes don’t depend on luck, or fate, or any of that. We usually have to help things along by ourselves.”

Clementine frowned. “Coyotes are treated very unfairly in this town. I’m sorry, Bill.”

“That’s alright. Coyotes don’t need luck to get by. We don’t need anything.”

“Because you’re self-sufficient?”

He flashed a strange smile and then went back to scanning the darkness. “Because we’re always willing to steal some other bastard’s Good fortune and make it our own.”