My UnTrue Love (A Kinda Fairytale #7)

Chapter Four

The cy’ote wanted fortune and lights,

A chance to find renown,

His talents sharp as edge of a knife,

And so he must leave town.

Lyrics from the folk song “Crossroads Coyote”

“Bill!” Clementine came dashing back into the main room of The Kitchen, interrupting his not-very-interesting conversation with Tony.

Enthusiasm lit her face and Bill smiled in response.

He adored her constant energy, especially when it made her glorious breasts bounce under her blouse. Bill would have stolen Clem regardless of her bra size. Her radiant grin had woken something in him and sealed her fate. But he appreciated that his sweet little wife-to-be was built like a vintage pinup girl. It was a real welcomed bonus.

Clementine stopped directly beside him. Right where she belonged. Bill inhaled her scent, soothed and turned on by her mere presence. Hand to Christ, his girl always smelled like homemade blueberry flapjacks. He wasn’t sure how that was possible, but he loved it. He wanted to eat her up like a banquet.

“This is Dinah.” Clem gestured to the woman who’d entered behind her. “Dinah, this is Pecos Bill.”

It was hard to focus on other people when Clem was nearby. Bill dug deep and managed to pry his attention away from his stolen-mate long enough to glance Dinah’s way.

The old lady didn’t seem thrilled to meet him. She had silver hair styled into a large beehive, clothes covered in shiny sequins, and a whole lotta fake lashes. She scowled at him and popped a cigarette between her scarlet-painted lips.

Bill frowned.

“So this is him, huh?” Dinah’s beady brown eyes fixed on Bill, already counting his flaws. The holes in his jeans. The way he stood just a little too close to Clem. The indisputable fact that he was a coyote. She snorted, her ancient voice raspy and hard. “Johnny’s prettier.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

Clem delivered that lie with an admirably straight face. Bill was impressed, considering she usually blushed bright red at the tiniest falsehood. Maybe she was learning to fib.

“Besides, Bill is much more talented than Johnny.” Clem went on loyally.

“You said he doesn’t even sing.” Dinah complained.

“But you heard his guitar playing on The Yellow Roses album. And that wasn’t even close to the amazing music he’s capable of making. Bill’s going to be a star. I know it.”

Tony rolled his eyes.

Bill didn’t blame him.

Dinah sighed and fished around in her spangle-y pocket. “I swear your momma was just like you, Clementine. Picking up every charity case who tumbleweed-ed his way into town. Wasting time on men who dragged her down.”

“Daddy did not drag Momma down.” It must’ve been an old argument, because there was no heat in Clem’s tone.

“He was the worst songwriter I ever met.”

“He wasn’t a bad songwriter. I have his notebook, and he wrote down wonderful ideas. He just never found a way to put all the pieces together.”

Dinah kept talking. “And as bad as he was at music, he was even worse at mining. Your momma was a muse! She could’ve had her choice of artists.”

“She did choose, and they were very happy together, even if Daddy’s songwriting career never quite developed to the levels they’d hoped.”

Dinah scoffed, as if that was a vast understatement.

“And anyway, this is about me, not them.” Clementine went on. “I know real talent, when I hear it. I was right about Johnny, when I convinced you to give him a chance. He’s always a big hit.”

“He broke up my most popular duet, when he screwed both sisters in one weekend.”

“Johnny says that was all a misunderstanding.”

“The little turd took pictures of it. He’s lucky I still let him try out new songs here.”

Bill had a real low tolerance for Johnny Jacobs and no tolerance at all for men who disrespected women. Ruining that bastard’s cushy setup with The Kitchen seemed like a fine idea. Every little bit of chaos Bill sowed in his life was time and effort Johnny couldn’t direct towards winning Clementine back.

And that fucker deserved to sink.

“Johnny still plays here?” Bill asked, like he’d had no earthly idea of such a thing. “I thought he said this place was only fit for a has-been and never-was.”

Dinah’s lips pinched. “Johnny said that about my place?” She demanded at Clementine.

“Ummm…” Clem wasn’t getting any better at fibbing, it seemed. The damning answer was all over her face.

“He said it just last night.” Bill confirmed. “Clem didn’t agree, of course, but Johnny seemed real sure.”

Dinah made a humph sound, but she refused to address him directly. “That little turd.” She muttered again and kept her eyes on Clementine. “Well, some B-list singer like Johnny is trouble enough for a girl. But a guitar-playing coyote?”

“Bill’s no trouble!” Clem defended. “He’s a perfect gentleman.”

That was sweet. She was always sweet. Bill eyed her riotous curls, picturing them wrapped all around his fist as he showed her how to suck him dry like a Good girl.

Dinah gave another snort. “I got charmed by a coyote, back in my day. Sex, and lies, and devilishness. This fella looks about the same type. You need a softer, bookish kinda man. What happened to that nice Febold Feboldson boy? He’s smart. I set you up on a date with him, just last month.”

“He stood me up.”

Bill became fascinated with the chandelier.

“Did you call and ask him why?” Dinah demanded. “He wouldn’t have skipped your date without a reason. Febold is real partial to you.”

Bill kept on studying the wagon wheel lighting fixture. Yep. There it was.

“I can’t ask him anything.” Clem countered. “Febold left town. He didn’t even leave a forwarding address.”

Bill suppressed a gratified smile. Febold understood how to listen. Febold was a smart one.

“Well, wherever he is, he’s still better than this fella.” She gestured towards Bill, as if he was unacceptable livestock at a farm auction. “If somebody like you gets mixed up with a coyote, you might as well hand over your panties and your heart at the outset, Clem. Save you some time.”

That sounded like a stellar plan to Bill.

“Someone like me?” Clem repeated, her tone miffed.

“Naive.Trusting.Easily duped.”

“Ditzy, you mean.” Clem snapped.

Dinah rolled her eyes. “Maybe just have that sheriff of yours look into this guy.” She suggested meaningfully and pulled a gold lighter from the depths of her pocket.

What sheriff of hers?

“You datin’ the sheriff?” That was impossible, right? Bill would’ve known about it and the man would be quickly fleeing town, just like smart ol’ Febold. Coyotes weren’t much for competition.

“No, of course not.” Clementine said distractedly. She drew in a deep breath, as if forcing herself to ignore Dinah’s lack of faith in her abilities. “Dinah, all I’m asking for is a trial. A few slots a week. You’re always looking for new talent to fill the shows.”

“The Kitchen is a business . I’m not gonna put some random nobody on stage.” Dinah flicked a flame on her lighter.

Bill’s shoulders tensed. That just wasn’t gonna work for him.

“Bill isn’t a random nobody. You’ll hear that, if you just give him a chance.”

“Clementine, you’re kin to me. If you hadn’t loved your new foster family so much, I woulda had you livin’ at my homestead, after your folks died. There is nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you. But coyotes are a different breed of man than you’re used to…”

“You can’t smoke around Clem.” Bill interrupted flatly.

Dinah’s skinny eyebrows soared, the lighter stopping halfway to her cigarette. “Come again?” She rapped out, glowering over at him.

“You can’t smoke around Clem.” Bill repeated.

“I own this place, boy.”

“I know.” Bill ignored Clementine’s pointed little elbow jabbing into his side, trying to get him to shut up. “But I don’t let people endanger Clem’s health, whether they own this place or not.”

Dinah stared at him.

Bill stared back.

For the first time, the two of them were dealing with each other and not through Clem.

Finally, Dinah lit her cigarette with a triumphant smirk. “Maybe you’d better drag Clementine outta here, then. For the good of her health and all.” She blew out an arrogant stream of smoke. “Or you can get up on stage and audition. Impress me and I’ll give you a regular slot.”

Bill smiled without humor at that challenge. Dinah was trying to prove she controlled what he wanted most. Only she didn’t. Bill considered guitar playing a lark to amuse himself and keep Clem happy. It would never be a regular paycheck and a regular paycheck was all that truly mattered. He had a stolen-mate to provide for, after all.

With a casual shrug, he turned towards the door. His hand found the small of Clem’s back, taking her with him. “See ya later, Tony.”

“Fiddly-i-o.” Tony whispered, his eyes wide at Bill’s decision to defy the most influential saloon owner in town.

Clementine made a frustrated sound. “Hang on!” She tried to dig her heels into the wooden floor. “Bill, we can not go, yet. You need to audition. I’ll wait outside, if the smoking upsets you.”

“Alone? No.” Red River Valley was dangerous. Every minute she was out of his sight was agony for him, because he imagined all the horrible shit that might befall her while his back was turned. Clem attracted trouble like rhubarb pie attracted rocking-horseflies.

“You walk out now, who’s to say when you’ll get another shot at greatness?” Dinah shouted.

Bill sent her an unimpressed look over his shoulder. She didn’t understand how far he’d go to protect his stolen-mate. Normal folks never understood how far a coyote would go. If they did, they’d be afraid. “I’ve already got my shot at greatness.”

Clementine Miner was his one and only chance at a happy future. Nothing would fuck that up for him.

Genuine shock flashed on Dinah’s face.

Clementine didn’t seem surprised by his decision, just exasperated. “Can’t you play one song for Dinah, so she’ll hear how talented you are?”

He kept walking, right through the double-hinged saloon doors and into the daylight. “You said yourself she heard me play on Johnny’s record. She knows enough to make up her mind.”

“You have to trust me on this.” Clementine implored.

“I do trust you.” It was everyone else on the planet who were cheating, lying assholes.

His gaze instinctively surveyed the bustling street, scanning for threats. Most people looked to be out-of-work musicians, hustling for a job. And every single one of them would kill and die for a muse of their own. He watched the news. He knew Clem’s species were regularly kidnapped by desperate artsy types.

Maybe they should move to a different town.

“If you trust me, then listen to me! The Kitchen was a very good opportunity for you, Bill, and you just wrecked it. Dinah can hold a grudge forever and you pissed her off, I think.”

“Not a thing I could do, but what I did.”

“Yes, there was to!” Her voice rose so he could hear her over the Conestoga wagon rattling by. “You’re just being stubborn.”

“So was Dinah.”

Clem couldn’t dispute it. “Well, she’s always like that. I told you, she thinks I’m ditzy.”

“And now she knows you’re not.” Bill didn’t much care about the woman’s opinion, but Clem clearly did. “She’ll respect you more, the next time. Meanwhile, there’s a heap of saloons in this town. We’ll try another one.” Anyplace was fine with him.

Bill picked a direction and started walking, peering down alleyways as they passed. Too many disreputable types lurked in the tight maze of spaces between the false-fronted buildings. The vertical, square-topped facades had a distinctive Western look that had been all the rage in Red River Valley thirty years before. To Bill’s eye, they were a lot nicer looking than the sod-construction that was so in style now.

Clementine sighed, staying beside him. “I’ll definitely do the negotiations during your interviews. You’re just too talkative.”

His mouth twitched. “Never heard that complaint before.”

“It’s not how many words you say, but how honest those words are.”

“Now I’m too honest and too chatty?”

“It’s true! We’re trying to get you hired, so you can’t say some of the things you want to say.” She held up a palm. “I know that seems deceitful to you. Artists like to be true to their own feelings. But it’s the way this business works. It’s how you’ll get record deals, and songs on the radio, and concerts, with people cheering your name.”

“I don’t care about any of that.”

“You might not care about all the attention, but you care about making music.”

He instinctively shook his head.

She stopped moving and dragged him to a halt, as well. “Bill.” Her voice was soft and knowing. “Music is a part of you. It’s okay to need it.”

It wasn’t okay. Bill ran a hand through his hair, staring into the middle distance. He didn’t need music. He didn’t need anything. Needing left you vulnerable. If you didn’t need something, you couldn’t be broken when you lost it. And coyotes lost a lot, because nothing was ever really theirs.

“I care about music.” He muttered after a long moment. He felt antsy even admitting that much, but he forced the words out. “But not as much as I care about you . That’s the truth.”

Clementine was the first and only thing he’d ever wanted enough to risk grabbing for. She made him exposed in ways he hadn’t been before. Bill knew that, but nothing could stop it from happening. He’d stolen himself the most complicated, maddening, perfect woman in the world, and he planned to keep her as long as he possibly could.

He just couldn’t need her.

Clementine reached over to rub a hand over his arm, sensing his inner turmoil. “This job was a big opportunity.” She murmured. “I would’ve understood if you were a little selfish.”

“I’m always selfish. It’s my nature.”

“No, it’s not. Sometimes you have a mischievous streak, like when you told Dinah Johnny badmouthed The Kitchen. He’ll catch hell for that.”

Bill laughed in surprise, delighted that she’d called him on that trick and that she didn’t seem to mind it.

Clem rolled her eyes in amused exasperation. “But you’re an overall wonderful person. You’re always looking out for me. This is the second job in twelve hours that you gave up for my sake.”

“I can get a lot of jobs, but I’ve only got one Clementine.”

That made her smile. “See? You just can’t help being charming.” She shook her head, her eyes warm. “One cigarette wasn’t going to kill me, you know.”

“You think I’d risk your health for an audition? For anything? ”

“The Kitchen is an excellent venue for you. You’d be seen by so many…”

Bill cut her off. “Did the doctor say you should avoid secondhand smoke?”

Clementine’s mouth pressed together in a stubborn line. “I never should have let you come with me to that appointment. You were taking notes on all his stupid, worst-case scenarios.”

“Did he say it?”

“Yes! Okay? He said it. But the music industry has a lot of smokers, and I work in the music industry. You can’t expect the whole town to suddenly quit smoking for me.”

Bill didn’t see why not. He’d quit smoking for her. Everyone else could, too. Last night, he’d even decided to give up having the occasional unlit cigarette in his mouth. He couldn’t risk having any tobacco near her, now that they were going to be so close.

“No place else in town is as good as the Kitchen.” Clementine lamented. “They’re not going to showcase your talent properly.”

“I’m not worried. I got a manager to figure that stuff out and she’s plenty capable.”

“Oh, I’ll figure it out. But playing here would have really given you a leg up.” She wrinkled her nose. “The Lone Prairie is the next stop on our list and it’s kind of a dive.”

“Just so nobody smokes near you, I’m sure it’ll do just fine.”