Chapter Five
He wished to end the True Love bond,
That once had brought him joy,
Fame now beck’ed his mind beyond,
What hearts could ‘er employ.
Lyrics from the folk song “Crossroads Coyote”
The Lone Prairie hired Bill. Clementine wasn’t surprised. He was by far the most talented performer to ever grace that third-rate establishment and, fortunately, no one had been smoking when Bill auditioned. The Monday night spot he’d been given wasn’t stellar, but it was a start.
“We have some big plans to make.” Clementine plopped chocolate chip cookie dough onto a baking tray. If she ever had extra money, she was going to buy one of those cute cookie scoops they used on cooking shows. Unfortunately, she never had extra money, so she made do with a spoon and her finger.
Bill grunted.
They were in the small kitchen of his apartment. She’d promised to make him his favorite meal to celebrate his new job. She considered cooking to be the one art she excelled at, and she liked to show off sometimes. Clementine had envisioned he’d choose steak or maybe lasagna. Instead, she ended up baking chocolate chip cookies. Bill’s taste ran to the very sweet, it seemed. It was adorable how happy he was with having dessert for dinner.
Clementine moved the mixing bowl, so he couldn’t eat all the cookies before she even baked them. “What song are you going to play on Monday?”
“Whatever you tell me to play.”
She glanced at him over the top of her glasses. “Just so it’s not ‘Crossroads Coyote,’ any song is fine with me.”
“Don’t like that ballad, huh?”
“No, it’s very sad and the rhyming scheme is suspect.”
“My pa used to sing that song a lot.”
“Oh. Well, if it has special meaning for you…”
“It doesn’t.” He somehow sneaked some more cookie dough. “You pick one that you do like, and I’ll play it.”
“Bill,” she chided, “what do you want to play? You’ll be the one on the stage.”
His brows drew together, like he was uncomfortable. “Don’t matter to me.” He muttered around his spoon. “I can play anything.”
She had no doubt that was true. She’d seen him listen to a song once and then play it back without missing a note. She’d also seen him change the notes and make the song better, almost on instinct. That was much more impressive to a muse. That was Bill coming through as an artist.
“Do you ever write songs?”
A pause.“No.”
Something about the way he said it made her keep staring at him.
“I don’t write ‘em down.” He expounded, after a beat. “I just… hear bits and pieces, sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”
Excitement filled her, because she knew it was a big deal. She knew how special it was when music played in an artist’s mind. Her father had been a songwriter. Not a very successful one, but one who never quit hoping for moments of ka-pow! to strike him. That’s what he called that feeling of true inspiration, when everything became clear in his head and the truth was revealed. When he knew he’d just discovered something remarkable.
Not wanting to scare Bill with her enthusiasm for his talent, she went back to making cookies. “Well, then play something you like to play. Something familiar to you, so you’ll feel comfortable on stage. We can brainstorm ideas over the weekend. Are you busy tomorrow?”
“Only in the morning.” Bill sat down at the kitchen island. “I gotta lay track.”
She blinked in total incomprehension. “Record tracks?”
His mouth twitched. “Railroad tracks. I’ve been working on the railroad they’re building, up in the mountains. Not many places have a railroad, so it qualifies as ‘skilled labor’, and the money’s good, but I gotta be there at sunrise. We start early to avoid the heat of the desert.” He reached over to try and steal more cookie dough.
Clementine swatted his hand away, trying to think. The Yellow Roses didn’t usually begin work before two in the afternoon, because Johnny was a night owl. Sometimes they went until midnight. She’d had no idea Bill had another job, outside of music, or that he’d had to get up so early to do it. When did the man sleep? What if he got injured, because he was too tired to do physical railroad stuff?
“Is laying railroad track dangerous?” She demanded.
“Not if you’re doin’ it right.”
Her eyes narrowed, hearing the evasion. “Do they use dynamite up there?”
“Only sometimes.”
“You need to quit! You could be hurt.”
“Can’t quit. I gotta pay our bills.”
Her head tilted at the “our” part of that mild statement. “As your manager, I get twenty-five percent of your musical paychecks. Not anything else. That wouldn’t be fair.”
“Seems plenty fair to me.”
Clementine’s brows compressed. He was too new to the business to understand how things worked. People would take advantage of his generous spirit. She needed to help him. “Bill…”
He cut her off. “It’s twenty-five percent of everything.” His voice was inflexible. The man was so stubborn!
Fiddle music came from the other side of the wall, distracting her from the argument. Clem whirled towards it, her instincts lighting up. “Who’s that?”
“The teenager next door. Moved in a while back and he’s been playing that mournful damn fiddle every damn night.”
Sympathy filled her, because she heard the sadness, too. “Is his family dead?”
“More likely his ma hooked up with his coyote father and then regretted it. She left with the boy, who wasn’t much welcome when she eventually found herself a new man. The stepdaddy kicked him out. The ma stayed with the stepdaddy. Now, the boy is on his own.”
Something about the very specific, too-simple way he laid it all out made her frown. “Is that what happened to you?”
“It’s what happens to most coyotes.” He raised a shoulder. “Our fathers are long gone. Mothers don’t want us, especially when we reach our teenage years and get close to shifting. Usually we don’t know our siblings. Stolen-mates go off, searchin’ for their True Loves. The only way to survive is to need nothin’ but ourselves.”
“But that’s so unfair!” Clementine wasn’t appeased. “I would never leave my child. And I would never be with a man who wanted me to.”
“I know.” His eyes were soft as they traveled over her face. (They were the most amazing shade of blue.)
“Would you leave your child?” She asked and then held her breath, because his answer was very, very important.
“No.” Bill said quietly.
She nodded, relief flooding her. “It’s very difficult to make it without your parents. It’s hard to feel connected and safe. Your neighbor is probably suffering over there, all by himself.”
“Coyotes are used to being alone.”
Clementine wasn’t so sure. Bill’s philosophy on only needing himself struck her as very lonely. And when she listened to the kid next door’s playing, she could hear sorrow in every note. Coyotes didn’t entirely like their solitary lives.
The music kept going, engaging her magic in a way that rarely happened. Isolation, and anger, and despair. So many heartbreaking emotions in the performance. She could experience everything he felt. That teenager had the beginnings of true greatness.
“He’s exceptional.” She whispered.
The bow screeched across the strings, as the kid hit the wrong note.
Bill cringed at the shrill noise and gave her a dry look.
“He’s going to be exceptional.” Clem corrected. A muse always knew raw talent when she stumbled across it. The boy needed more practice and a better instrument, but there was boundless potential in his sound. “What do you know about him?”
“I told you what I know: Coyote. Male. Lives alone.” He paused. “Dangerous.”
“What makes you say he’s dangerous?”
“All of the above.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re a male coyote who lives alone. Does that mean you’re dangerous?”
“Yes.”
“That is just ridiculous. ” The oven timer buzzed, and Clementine stopped her mini-rant to grab the tray of finished cookies. “Here!” She slapped it onto the counter in front of him, exasperated with the man. “Not that you deserve them, being as you’re so ‘dangerous’ and all.”
Bill ignored her grouchy tone, his eyes devouring the slightly-misshapen cookies. “For me?” He asked, like he still didn’t quite believe that she’d baked them just for him.
Like maybe no one had cooked for him before.
Maybe they hadn’t, considering his parents had been awful. Maybe nobody had ever supported Bill or kept him safe. Maybe that’s why he was so wary of being vulnerable. Her heart twisted with affection and something else. Something bigger.
“Just for you.” She promised. “Your very sugary dinner is served. You should let them cool for a second or the chocolate will burn your mouth.”
“Worth it, I reckon.” He grabbed a hot cookie and ate it in two bites, the big grin staying on his face. “Perfect.”
Clem resisted the urge to clap her hands together in delight at getting a five-star review. “You really think so? I worked hard on the recipe. Not everyone likes them, but I think…”
“Someone doesn’t like my cookies?” Bill interrupted. “Who doesn’t like my cookies?”
“Well, there was a contest last year, hosted by the Section 37 Bakery.” Clem didn’t want to dwell on it, because it had been a huge blow to her confidence. “It’s the biggest bakery chuck-wagon in Red River Valley. Hot Biscuit Slim owns it. I entered these cookies in his Annual Amateur Bakers’ Competition, and I finished in last place. Hot Biscuit Slim said that chocolate chip cookies are,” she made a face at the memory, “low-effort.”
“Hot Biscuit Slim said my cookies were low-effort?”
Clem nodded unhappily. “He laughed about them.”
“Well, I sure don’t appreciate that.”
“I didn’t either.” Clem shrugged aside the humiliating experience. “They’re still my favorite, though. So I was hoping you’d like them, too.”
“They’re perfect.” Bill reiterated and ate another one. “Everything about you being here is perfect , darlin’.” He gazed at her with supreme contentment.
Whenever he focused those astonishing eyes on her, Clem felt butterflies in her stomach and everything else fell away. It was a wonder other girls weren’t stalking him, desperate for his attention.
Not that Clementine had scoured his apartment, looking for clues about his romantic life. She just casually noted that there were no cute couple-y photos anywhere or overt signs of a feminine presence. If she happened to peek under his bathroom cabinet for traces of some other woman’s stuff, it was completely by accident.
She’d also noticed that the pipes were leaking under the sink. She was going to alert the building superintendent about it, since it needed to be fixed. As Bill’s manager, it was Clem’s job to deal with the daily maintenance of his life, so he could focus on his musical genius.
“Bill,” her voice softened, and she refocused on protecting him from his own kindness. She loved his gentle heart and honest nature, but it would get him eaten alive in Red River Valley. The music industry was filled with disreputable crooks. “I am not going to take twenty-five percent of all your money.”
“A quarter of what the Lone Prairie’s paying me ain’t gonna be enough for you to live on, Clem.”
“I know, but I can work with other musicians, too. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Blue eyes narrowed. “Which other musicians?”
“I don’t know, yet. Whoever wants to hire me.” She smiled at him. “It’s not all on you. I can take care of myself.”
He ate another cookie, chewing with a brooding intensity. “You’ll take care of yourself… by spending time with men… who aren’t me?”
Clementine abruptly saw the issue. Like all artists, Bill was prone to self-doubt. He was worried he’d need her advice and she’d be busy with someone else. “Obviously, I’ll help your career the most .” She leaned over to give his hand a squeeze. “You’re my best, best friend.”
Bill’s scowl lessened. “ I’m your best, best friend? It’s not Johnny?”
Clementine hadn’t even thought of Johnny when she’d said the words. For so long they’d been partners in everything. Johnny and Clementine. A set. But they’d drifted in different directions and outgrown their bond, long before he’d fired her. If they’d met as adults, would they ever have become close? She didn’t think so.
“It’s not Johnny.” She said with utter surety.
Bill stared at her. “Good.” He murmured.
It made her insides tighten in a not-just-best-best-friends kind of way. Dear God… The man had to be more careful of how he used his voice. That dark and rumbling tone should be classified as a weapon.
“Are you positive that you don’t sing?” She blurted out.
“I’m positive I don’t sing and I’m even more positive that I don’t want you collaborating with other musicians.” He shook his head. “That’s just not gonna work for me.”
“Collaborating with musicians is all I know how to do. I have to make a living, somehow.”
His forehead compressed, like he was digging for words that would get her onto his side of the debate. “Our futures are linked. That’s how I see it.”
“That’s how I see it, too.” Something connected them. She’d always felt it pulling her towards this man, in a way she’d never been pulled towards anyone else.
“You and me?” Bill waved a palm between them. (He had beautiful hands. Perfect for making music.) “We’re going in the same direction.”
She busied herself by popping another tray of cookies into the oven. “I think the same. And once your career really gets started, we can…”
“What if it doesn’t?” He interrupted. “What if this is all I’ll ever be?”
She glanced at him in surprise. “Bill, you’re going to be a star.”
He muttered a curse, rubbing a hand over his face.
Clementine realized he was worried that he’d disappoint her. “Honestly, if this is all you ever are…? I might actually be happier.” She admitted. “Because I really like this you. And success could change things.”
His palm dropped, his eyes snapping to hers.
She chewed on her lower lip. “Success changed Johnny.” She whispered. And Bill’s fame was destined to eclipse Johnny’s like a celestial event.
Unfortunately, Bill was a handsome guitar player in a music town. He could have his pick of classy, stylish women, especially once his name was in lights on a marquee. And none of them would understand how sweet and wonderful he was. Only Clementine could appreciate his many layers.
Only her.
“I don’t know how to change.” Bill assured her. “If I did, I’d have done it when we met. I’d be a better man, if I could.”
“The man you are is my best, best friend, so I’m okay with you staying this way forever.”
“You’re my best, best friend, too. I never had that before.” His gaze was steady. “And if you work for somebody else, I’ll have to share you. I don’t want to share, Clem. I want all of you for me .
The way he said it sounded like music.
Her skin was flushed, but she didn’t think she was blushing. It was just… hot. Clementine shifted her shoulders, trying to hide the fact that her nipples were now very hard and achy.
She’d never thought much about sex, until Bill came along. In fact, she’d done her best to repress her sexuality, so no one thought she was a stereotypical, lusty muse. Now, visions of twisted bed sheets, and caressing hands, and passionate kisses, popped into her mind with shocking regularity.
She focused on the wall beside his very handsome head, hoping to hide her reaction. “So… what are you suggesting, then?”
“We pool our resources.That’s best for both of us, in the long run, because it gets us to our destination quicker.”
“Most of the ‘resources we’re pulling’ would be yours, though.”
“Gettin’ what I want is worth whatever it costs.”
His commitment to his career was admirable. He really wanted her focus, so he could succeed. Bill was so driven. So incredibly talented. He just needed support, and he would rise to the top very quickly.
She sighed, thinking it over. “If you feel that strongly about me working exclusively for you…”
“I do.”
“…we’ll have to plan a budget.” She finished firmly. Artists could be impractical sometimes. They got a vision of how everything should be, facts and logic be damned.
Bill leaned back in his seat, the soul of compromise. “Fine by me. Let’s make a list of our most important expenses. How much does your medicine cost?”
That was the first thing he thought of? Her medicine?
“A lot.” Clementine whispered, touched that he cared so much about her health. “It costs more than my rent. And my rent is also a lot. Johnny insisted we get a four-bedroom house.”
Bill frowned.“Huh.”
The sound was neutral, but the subtext was not. She could read Bill’s assorted “huhs” like a book. He thought Johnny’s demand for a mini-mansion was ridiculous. She kind of agreed.
“Johnny and I have been roommates since college. We started with a small apartment, but he needed more space for his music and his meditating. He said it would help him with his creativity.”
“And you split the rent, half and half?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yes.”
Bill made another “huh” sound.
Now Clementine sensed disapproval. Same word, completely different meaning. “He should pay more, if he gets three rooms and I get one? That’s what you’re saying?”
Bill shrugged.
Clementine’s forehead creased, considering that well-articulated point. Bill was very perceptive. No doubt about it. “I’ve always thought the same thing.” She confessed. “Johnny says he needs the extra room, though. And I don’t. It seemed selfish of me to complain.” She paused. “But Johnny never meditates, and he mostly uses his music room to play video games.”
Bill crossed his arms over his chest, his eyebrow going up a tiny bit. He was making such great arguments.
“Maybe…” She trailed off and then forced herself to say what she’d been thinking for months. Longer even. “Maybe Johnny is the one being selfish.”
This time the “huh” meant that Bill completely agreed with her summation.
Clementine kept going, the words rushing out of her. “Maybe Johnny walked all over me, and I let him.” She didn’t like acknowledging that, but it seemed so clear in retrospect. “I didn’t want to upset him or ruin our friendship. But I was the one upset, and the friendship got ruined anyway. How he acted was wrong .” She paused. “And how I reacted was wrong, too. How I didn’t act. Un acted.”
Bill’s head tilted. He didn’t like that she was taking any of the blame.
“I should have been more assertive.” Clementine explained. “From now on, I’m really going to work on that. For me and for you. A good manager has to be assertive. I need to decide what I want and go get it.”
“Huh.” Now, Bill was a little impressed. She could tell.
Clementine felt a surge of confidence. “Maybe I should move out of Johnny’s and get someplace cheaper?”
It came out like a question, because the idea was daunting. She’d never actually made a decision about where she lived. She’d just gone from her parents’ mining camp, to her foster home, to wherever Johnny wanted to rent. She’d never made a choice, and personal choices were so important.
So what did she want?
Her brows furrowed, on the verge of a realization.
Everything had been upended for her, but it didn’t feel like her life was a big mess. It felt like she’d just cleared a big mess. Clarified things that had been foggy before. She saw her past mistakes so vividly that she knew she’d been seeing them for a very long time. That she’d already been preparing for the “after” to begin. For when she found her way free of the big mess and into her new life. For right now.
Bill ate another cookie and waited for her to answer her own question.
“I should move out of Johnny’s.” Clementine said again, this time in a firm voice.
Bill slowly smiled and it did crazy things to her heart.
Just that fast, Clementine’s desire to be more assertive smacked headlong into her deep, abiding, unrequited crush on Bill. The realization she’d felt coming on blossomed into a genuine artistic epiphany. For the very first time in her life, Clementine experienced a ka-pow! moment of her very own.
What did she want? She wanted Pecos Bill, of course!
It was empowering to finally admit it. To not be afraid of her own desires. This was the man she felt attracted to and connected with. All her instincts told her he was supposed to be hers. She wanted a life and a family with Bill, so she’d figure out a way to make it happen.
She was going to chase this cowboy, until she caught him.
“I could live alone, but I’m pretty sure I’d hate it.” She said before she could reconsider her outrageous idea.
Bill squinted in genuine confusion. Many artists were introverted. He didn’t understand why she’d need other people around.
Clementine tried to translate the concept. “There’s a huge world happening in your mind.” She gestured towards his head. (His skull was so nicely shaped. Very dignified and noble.) “Music plays just for you, in your brain. Symphonies that you conduct, all on your own. Time passes and you barely notice.”
Bill blinked. “Yeah.” He agreed, like he’d never really thought about it before.
“And you hear that music best when you’re alone. When it’s quiet and there are no distractions. There’s nothing wrong with that. But I don’t have that kind of…”
“I hear it best when I’m with you.” He interrupted.
Her heart flipped, but she forced herself to be pragmatic about his words. He wasn’t thinking about her romantically. Yet. “Well, it’s not surprising you feel that way, when we’re together. Artists are always more comfortable around muses.”
“I’m not an artist.”
“Of course you are.” Clementine had never met anyone so gifted in her whole life. “But my inner world isn’t quite so bright and busy as yours. I’d like to have a roommate.”
“A female roommate.”
“Oh, I’m used to living with men.” First her foster brothers and then Johnny. It was normal for her. Clementine kept going, full speed ahead on her rapidly developing plan. “How many bedrooms does this place have?”
Bill went still.
Shoot. That was too pushy. Chasing cowboys was hard.
“Not this exact place.” She backpedaled, so she didn’t scare him. “Obviously, you wouldn’t want me moving in here with you. Maybe I could rent an apartment in the building, though. I mean, like, on another floor or…”
He cut her off, his voice more animated than usual. “I’ve got two bedrooms. The second one’s through there.” He gestured towards the hallway. “It’s empty.”
She frowned. “You have a totally empty room in your apartment? Why?”
“Nothin’ to fill it with.” Icy blue eyes gleamed, like his coyote-self was more awake than usual and observing the exchange closely. “Not until you wanted to move in.”
It was a testament to his accommodating nature that he could make her idea seem like his own plan. Bill really was the kindliest man she’d ever met.
…But then he had no idea her feelings for him had veered away from simple friendship and into more. Was that fair? Clementine wasn’t certain it was fair. Being assertive was new to her, so she might be taking advantage of Bill.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t feel crowded by me, living in such close quarters?”
“Darlin’, the closer you live, the better I’ll feel.”
Pleasure suffused her and her doubts faded. He’d thank her for pushing him into this, once she proved to him that they were perfect together. Sometimes artists needed help to see the bigger picture.
“I picked this place because it’s safe enough.” Bill went on. “But no place fully safe woulda rented to me. So, you gotta be very careful while you’re here. Keep the doors locked. Don’t go near Woody, the scumbag landlord. Stay inside at night. Don’t talk to anyone…”
Clementine cut him off. “Well, I have to talk to the boy next door.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do! He has talent and he’s all alone. He has to have support.” She kept going, so he couldn’t protest that reasoning. “I can’t ignore your neighbors, but I can try to do the rest. And I won’t be a bother to you, either. I promise. I know that artists need their space.”
“I never need space from you. I never need anything, but surely not space. And, like I’ve said a heap of times, I’m not an artist, so…”
She interrupted him again. “You are an artist.”
He wasn’t interested in discussing his talent. Usually, artists knew they had a gift, but Bill always seemed downright baffled by her faith in him. “So, when can you move in?”
Clem felt giddy at how easy it had been to convince him. “I mean… I guess next month?”
Russet eyebrows shot up. “A month? No.” He shook his head, like that was crazy talk. “How about tonight?”
Her eyes widened. “I can’t. I have to get everything organized and packed.”
“I’ll help you. We’ll get you away from Johnny in no time.”
“Good Lord, you don’t have to help me move on top of everything else!” That was expecting way too much from him. “You’ve done enough.”
“Oh, I want to help.” Bill sounded very, very sure. “I’ve got plenty of time and cardboard boxes. And I love to pack shit.”