My UnTrue Love (A Kinda Fairytale #7)

Chapter Three

From when he was a bright young lad,

She’d been at his side,

Yet with fame’s hunger driving mad,

His love could not abide.

Lyrics from the folk song “Crossroads Coyote”

Dinah Hornblower ran a saloon named “The Kitchen.” Clem’s grandmother had been Dinah’s muse, for a spell. The Kitchen needed a new musician, because the banjo player had run off to become a blacksmith. Clementine wanted Dinah to hire Bill.

That was the gist of the plan, only it had taken Clem the entire forty-minute walk to explain it. Her summary included intricate backgrounds for all the principal characters, a tangent about The Kitchen’s delicious fried onion appetizer, and an in-depth analysis of Dinah’s possible love affair with Clem’s grandmother, which, “must’ve been filled with incredible creativity and passion. It’s lucky they didn’t kill each other.”

Bill could have listened to her happily talk to him all day.

Coyotes were not a species people happily talked to. As a group, they’d earned a dangerous reputation. People whispered they were closer to animals than most shifters. Aggressive and conniving. Small in number, usually Bad, and most always male, coyotes were easy to vilify.

They didn’t play popular sports, like wolves. They weren’t barbarian warriors, like centaurs. No one needed their magic, like dragons. Coyotes lived on the outskirts of Good society, peering in and searching for weaknesses.

Plotting. Watchful. Unrepentant… The complaints about them went on and on:

Coyotes were tricksters. (Bill preferred to think of it as being skilled at strategy.)

Coyotes were heartless. (Sure, but Bill argued it was an all-or-nothing world. You had to get all you could and leave your opponents with nothing.)

Coyotes claimed women that fate hadn’t meant for them. (Yeah… Bill couldn’t deny that one. It was true. Coyotes stole happily ever afters.)

The thieving of True Loves was the biggest grievance against his kind. The one that no Good male ever forgot. To Bill, though, it was just straight-up survival. Like most species, coyotes wanted a mate. It drove them. Since some damn curse had denied coyotes a True Love, the only answer was to steal somebody else’s.

If a smug, oblivious bastard took his smug, oblivious eyes off the woman that destiny had handed him…? And if she meandered a little too close to the wild…? And if a coyote snatched her up…? Well, there was really no one to blame but the oblivious bastard himself. Seemed pretty clear-cut to Bill.

Take Johnny for example: A smug and oblivious bastard, upon whom fortune had smiled. He’d been granted a fair-haired, fay little thing with a glowing smile and clear green eyes. Clementine hadn’t been born Johnny’s True Love, but she’d been endlessly devoted to that fuck-wad. She’d belonged to Johnny.

That just wasn’t gonna work for Bill.

It was an all-or-nothing world. From the very first day, he’d planned to get it all and leave Johnny with nothing. He’d just had to do it in a quiet, indirect way, so the repercussions didn’t blow back on him. There was no sense in disabusing Clem of the notion that Bill was a nice guy. Not when Johnny was there, just begging to be the villain.

Bill didn’t need any credit for destroying his enemies. Of course not. He wasn’t a bragging sort. Let others take the recognition and get the blame. He’d just reap the rewards.

To everyone watching, he spent his first months with The Yellow Roses learning how to read music and just following directions. But mostly he’d been getting a lay of the land. Studying his rival. Strategizing ways to steal Clementine. Then, he’d quietly given Johnny enough rope to hang himself and sat back to watch him swing.

It had happened even faster than he’d anticipated.

While Johnny wasted his time romancing Rosalee, Clementine had been pushed aside. Bill had been the one who’d nudged Rosalee’s resume to the top of the pile of applicants for band manager. He’d sensed that she’d be a real good fit. With Johnny deliberately monopolizing all Rosalee’s time, it only seemed right that Bill keep Clem company on the sidelines. Bill wasn’t much of a talker, but his sunshiny stolen-mate was. All he had to do was sit next to her and bask in her warmth, while she made them inseparable friends.

Check the scoreboard. That was a clear point to Bill.

At the same time, Bill worked to improve his guitar playing, because losing the job meant losing access to Clementine. (He also found he really enjoyed making music, once he focused on it. He hadn’t anticipated that, considering his hatred for his old man.) Clementine had been overjoyed by his efforts. For some damn reason, she thought he was spectacularly talented and that got him another point on the board.

When Clementine tried to feature more of Bill’s guitar playing on the album, Johnny threw a pissy tantrum. Bill didn’t say a word, because what did he care about being on Johnny’s damn record? But Clem was plenty upset on Bill’s behalf. Pretty soon, she’d been taking Bill’s side in everything related to the band, which made Johnny furious, which drove Clem closer to Bill, which made Johnny more furious. Another point to Bill.

On and on it went. Every time Johnny had the opportunity to win some points himself, he blew it. He consistently showed Clem how utterly useless he was as a friend and how she couldn’t trust him.

Bill hadn’t really done much of anything. Yet. Johnny had been the one to burn his life to ashes. All those points added up, one after another. Until the scoreboard was decisively weighed in Bill’s favor and Johnny had lost his most precious possession.

Never get into an all-or-nothing fight with a coyote. Bill’s kind didn’t start ‘em, unless they already knew they’d win.

It had taken a bit of time, but Bill’s methodical approach had worked. Getting to know Johnny some, it was inevitable that the unmitigated asshole would sink himself. Bill had just hurried things along by drilling holes in the boat. …And he planned to keep on drilling.

Bad enough that Johnny had tried to lay claim to Bill’s stolen-mate, before Bill even met her. Bill was still a mite put- out about that, truth be told. But then Johnny went and fired Clem. Made her cry. Cut her out of the band she’d helped to found. Bill didn’t appreciate that. So now that motherfucker was going to drown with Bill’s boot on his head, holding him beneath the waves.

In a quiet, indirect kinda way.

“Now, don’t be nervous.” Clementine told him earnestly. The two of them were walking down the wooden sidewalk, past the Saloon District’s numerous music venues. This early in the day, most were dark and quiet. “Just be your usual charming self and everything will be fine.”

“My usual self ain’t real charming.”

Clementine laughed like he was kidding with her.

“I’m not kidding with you.” Bill stressed. “I can’t be charming. I’m the opposite of charming. I’m whatever word ‘ un charming’ is.”

“That’s not true. You’re charming to me, all the time.”

Bill doubted that. A lot. “If I’m ever somehow charming with you, it’s because you’re Clem. And nobody else is Clem. Nobody else is even close . So, I won’t be charming with them.” It was best she didn’t get her hopes up about his social skills.

Green eyes flashed up to his face and she gave him a shy smile.

Damn if the heart-coyotes-weren’t- supposed-to-have didn’t flip over in his chest. He cleared his throat. “I think you should be the one who negotiates with this Dinah lady.”

“Dinah thinks I’m ditzy.” Clem wrinkled her nose. “I guess because I look… ya know… like a muse.”

“Nothing wrong with how you look.” Bill assured her with total conviction. “Not a damn thing.”

She sent him a grateful glance. “Most folks aren’t as high-minded as you are. You probably don’t even notice appearances.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed yours.”

“So many others make snap judgments, based only on how a person looks.” Clem went on, blithely unaware of his lustful thoughts. “That’s why muses are stereotyped as kind of airheads. We don’t look like serious businesswomen. And Dinah’s known me for so long that I’ll always be ten years old to her. She’ll talk like I’m not even in the room, if I let her.”

“So you won’t let her.” Bill didn’t like it when Clem felt intimidated. He enjoyed her spunky, cheery bossiness and he respected her knowledge of music. “I support professional women.” Maybe his ma would’ve made different choices if she’d had more job opportunities. “You’re the best manager there is. You know what you’re doing in this business, as well as anybody.”

She firmed her jaw. “You’re right. It’s time for me to be my most assertive. I don’t want Dinah to bully you.”

“Impossible. I know my manager will keep me safe.”

Bill was ambivalent about working for this scary woman and even more ambivalent about building his new solo career. He was pretty damn sure his guitar playing wouldn’t come to anything. He’d only joined The Yellow Roses because he fancied a certain blonde.

One look at Clem and he’d seen his whole future.

Wherever she was going, he was headed there, too. If Clementine had favored glassblowers, he would have developed an abiding passion for making crystal paperweights. For whatever reason, the guitar seemed to interest his Clem, so he’d instantly become a professional guitar player. Not a hardship. He liked music. Give Bill an instrument and he could play anything. But there was no way in the world he’d ever be a star.

Bill allowed Clementine to herd him through the swinging doors of The Kitchen. It was a large, open space, with a bar on one side and a stage on the other. Overhead, a wagon wheel chandelier flickered. Round tables were set up around the perimeter. Sawdust covered the dance floor, pictures of country music celebrities decorated the walls, and it seemed like songs were soaked into every surface.

It gave him a weird feeling in his gut to be standing there.

It was only 10 am, so the saloon was deserted. There were just two men visible. One was a satyr. He let out a wolf-whistle from where he was sweeping the stage. “Come perform some magic on me, little muse! I got some huge inspiration for you!” He made a thrusting motion against his broom and laughed.

Clem’s lips compressed into an unhappy line. “Shut up, Dusty. I don’t have time to deal with you.”

Bill had plenty of time to deal with him. He didn’t much appreciate the man’s sexist remarks or the way Clem tensed under his leering gaze.

He didn’t appreciate it, a’tall .

Bill’s head swiveled to look at Dusty, his eyes beginning to glow coyote-blue. “I believe you just upset my manager.” He said very calmly. “Apologize.”

It belatedly dawned on Dusty that Clementine was standing next to a coyote-shifter. That the coyote-shifter had his hand possessively resting on the small of Clem’s back. That the coyote-shifter was fucking pissed off to have another man harassing his stolen-mate.

The satyr paled, correctly interpreting the imminent threat to his life. “No, I… I’m just foolin’. Sorry, Clem. I didn’t… I have to check the… um…” He hightailed it from the room just as quick as his goat-legs could go.

Bill wasn’t appeased. He didn’t believe Dusty was really sorry. Not yet.

Clementine seemed thrilled with the satyr’s hasty exit, though. “Good work!” She gave Bill’s shoulder a little bump of camaraderie. “Dusty’s crap gets really old.”

“He bothers you a lot?”

“I don’t see him very often, but when I do it’s always kind of like that .” She made a distasteful face. “I told you: Muses have to fight to be taken seriously in this business.”

“Maybe I can help. I’m real good at fighting.”

She smiled like he’d offered her diamonds.

A beaver was setting up behind the bar. He was the only other one in the room, now. The man had prominent front teeth, a full coat of dark fur, and a dour frown. He looked too gloomy to catcall at women. Bill approved.

“Hi, Tony.” Clementine headed for him, pulling Bill along in her wake. “Is Dinah busy with anyone I know? Does she have a sec?”

“She’s always got time for you, Clem.” Tony wore chaps and a buffalo-plaid shirt. “It’s the rest of us she hates. She’s breaking the heart of some new banjo player, in the back.”

“Well, I’ve brought her the best guitar player in town.”

“And Dinah’s the meanest lady in town, so she won’t care.” Tony grumbled.

“Dinah’s not mean.” Clementine’s voice lacked conviction. “She just has a lot of opinions.”

Loud sobbing echoed through the large space. An elf carrying a banjo went dashing by, tears pouring down his face. He raced out of the saloon, like he was being chased by a bounty hunter, leaving the door swinging behind him. Two seconds later, the banjo came flying back through the opening and shattered on the wooden floor.

“I’m leaving this troll-shit town!” The elf shrieked from outside. “Fuck music! I’m going back to school to be a wagon-master, or a gunfighter, or a chiropractor.”

Tony winced at the dramatic scene.

Bill made a “huh” sound. The banjo audition must not have gone well.

Clementine refused to be deterred. “Wait here, Bill. I’ll go get your new boss and warm her up to the idea of hiring you.” She gave his shoulder a bolstering pat and went hurrying off to find Dinah.

Bill’s hungry gaze followed her. Clementine favored gingham skirts that flowed around her lush hips. Until now, he’d contented himself with imagining all the pristine, dimpled flesh hidden under her colorful wardrobe. For ten months, that had been the extent of his sex life and he was past ready to claim his stolen-mate for real. He wanted Clementine hot and wet and coming all around him. Soon.

His tongue ran along the edge of his teeth, watching the jiggle of her truly exceptional ass, as she pranced out of the room. The situation was becoming dire. It was time to start nudging his future bride in the direction of his bed (in a quiet, indirect kinda way) before he spontaneously combusted.

“So, you’re some hotshot guitar player?” Tony’s tone was disparaging.

Bill swung his attention over to the beaver. No one but Clementine much mattered to him. So long as they weren’t a threat, he’d just as soon ignore them. This guy wasn’t a threat, so Bill managed a noncommittal grunt. Hopefully, Tony would take a hint and shut up.

Tony didn’t take the hint. “Good luck.” He scoffed. “Fiddly-i-o! I’ve been trying to get my music heard for years . If it wasn’t for the weekend gig Clem found me at the farmer’s market, I’d never get to perform, at all.”

Bill couldn’t wrangle enough interest to even grunt that time.

Tony manfully persisted in the face of Bill’s apathy. “That’s how tough this business can be. I work here as a server. And I work at the Six White Horse-Drawn Carriages Wedding Chapel, as an officially-licensed, part-time officiant. And neither place will let me play my drums.”

“Six horses, huh?” Bill stirred, because he liked horses almost as much as he liked music.

“There’s no horses at the Six White Horse-Drawn Carriages Wedding Chapel. There aren’t carriages, either. It’s a cheap, twenty-four-hour wedding factory that makes me want to kill myself.” Tony seemed bitter. “I dreamed I’d be famous. Just like everyone else in this damn town. But it’s never gonna happen, at this rate.”

Bill didn’t dream of being famous. Coyotes didn’t have any dreams, if they were smart. He’d never even consciously learned the guitar. He’d picked it up as a kid and just intuitively understood how to create music. A part of him knew he’d inherited the talent from his father, but he didn’t like thinking about that, so he didn’t.

His ability wasn’t special. It just was .

Tony aggressively wiped at the counter and kept talking. “I was gonna come to Red River Valley and be some great drummer. With my tail, I figured I’d be a shoo-in for stardom.” He gestured to the flat appendage sticking out from his lower back. “I’ve got a natural advantage at percussion, right?”

“Make sense.” Bill allowed.

“Well, look at where my gift got me.” Tony waved a hand around the bar, the rag splattering water all over the counter that he’d just cleaned. “I can’t even get songwriters to talk to me, about drum solos. Hey, hang on,” he looked Bill up and down, “do you write songs?”

“I perform other people’s songs.”

New tunes constantly played in Bill’s head, but he was the only one who’d ever heard those flashes of notes and bits of lyrics. Tantalizing pieces of music appeared in his mind all hours of the day, but none of them ever escaped into actual sound. None of them were ever whole . Something was always missing, and he’d given up trying to figure out what it might be.

Tony made a face. “Well, Red River Valley is a sucker bet for creative types, unless you’ve got a muse. There ain’t nothing so valuable as one of those va-va-voom vixens.”

Bill frowned, because that was true. Clementine was the most valuable thing in town. And there were a lot of men with more to offer her than Bill. That worried him some.

Luckily, Clem was Good.

Coyotes stole Bad women. They were the only ones willing to take a chance on Bill’s kind, even temporarily. Bill had never heard of a coyote getting himself a Good girl. Not until now.

Bill didn’t like to brag, but he was a mite cleverer than the others of his kind. He’d found himself a workaround to the stolen-mate problem. Good folk didn’t know their True Loves until they slept with them. Clem wasn’t the type to cheat, no matter how many males tried to woo her into their beds. Once Bill locked her into a relationship, she’d never find her True Love, because she’d only be with him . It was the perfect plan!

Just to be on the safe side though, every other male would be staying far away from her.

“Muses are damn picky about who they work with. Their magic has to fit together with the artist. And even then , they’re looking for a spark of genius or some shit.” Tony ranted. “But if they decide you’ve got it, brother, you’re set for life. ”

Bill’s eyes narrowed. Was Tony a threat, after all? He listened for some hint of criticism, or lascivious intent, or professional acquisitiveness directed towards his va-va-voom vixen.

“Clem’s the only muse who’ll talk to me, but her magic don’t quite fit with mine. She’s been real encouraging about my drumming, though. She’s always looking out for people.” Tony tsked . “Her heart’s too soft for this town.”

“I don’t have a heart.” Bill intoned. There was nothing but rock-hard selfishness in his chest. The inflexible knowledge that he’d destroy any other man who came after what was his.

Tony was oblivious to how close he was walking to the edge of disaster. “Clem’s a real sweet girl. If you hurt her, I’ll kick your ass.”

Bill’s flare of suspicion eased. Tony seemed to view Clem in a platonic way. That was fine. He could be ignored, again. …Well, mostly ignored. Bill didn’t trust any man enough to completely ignore him around Clementine.

“Johnny never appreciated her.” Tony declared, winning himself some points with Bill. “Any guy who has a muse should count his lucky stars, ya know? There aren’t enough of them to go around.”

Bill didn’t quite understand how Clementine’s magic worked, but he’d hated when it had been linked up with Johnny. She was Bill’s stolen-mate and he wasn’t sharing one single piece without a fight. Not a curl on her head. Not the nail on her tiniest toe. Not a sparkle from her lovely green eyes. He got it all and everyone else got nothin’ .

Tony’s gaze fixed on Bill. “How’d you get Clem away from Johnny, anyhow?”

“He fired her.” Bill lifted a shoulder, pantomiming his bewilderment at Johnny’s choice.

“Fiddly-i-o! He fired his own muse?” Tony’s downturned mouth lifted the smallest bit. Red River Valley was a town where others’ misfortune was your gain. “Well, he’s fucked.”

“Yep.”