Chapter Ten
Animal, person, and god all alike,
This woman appeared to be,
The cy’ote knew the legends were right,
Bright future could he see.
Lyrics from the folk song “Crossroads Coyote”
Clementine all but ran out onto the balcony, trying to cut Woody off. “Luke’s not home, Mr. Shakes!” She called to the landlord loud enough for everyone in Red River Valley to hear.
The fiddle music inside Luke’s apartment stopped with an unharmonious screech.
“If he’s not home, what’s the noise?” Woody demanded, glowering over at her in unpleasant triumph.
“Um…The radio?”
“Nothing that fucking terrible is on the radio.”
“It’s probably a broken radio. Luke is very poor. Which is why I think you should give him more time to come up with the rent he owes.”
“Forget it!” Woody’s snake-y body coiled beneath him, his tail rattling in agitation at the very suggestion of clemency. “He pays by tomorrow or he’s gone. Good riddance to the little shit.”
The ugly curtains in the front window of Luke’s apartment shifted. The kid was listening to all of this. It made Clem want to shield him from Woody’s antipathy.
She lowered her voice, hoping Luke couldn’t hear. “You’re a fair man, Mr. Shakes.”
“No, I’m not.”
Okay, that was undoubtedly true.
“You could be fair, if you gave yourself a chance.” She wasn’t the kid’s manager, but she could still negotiate on his behalf. Artists weren’t always the best at business discussions. They sometimes needed help. “I understand you have a job to do, but Luke is a young boy. He probably has got nowhere else to go. Can’t you give him an extension? Just this once?”
“That deadbeat’s not going to have the money, even if I gave him fifty years.”
“He could do repairs around the complex to work off some of his rent. Fix the pool maybe.” She gestured towards the half-filled eyesore in the courtyard. The tattered deck chairs surrounding it were just silly, because no one sane would go near that mosquito pit. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have it up and running?”
“Name me one person around here who knows how to swim.”
Again, that was a good point. There were no rivers in Red River Valley. Or oceans or lakes or even a teeny pond. The landscape was desert and mountains, as far as the eye could see.
“Well, we could all learn to swim if we had a pool.” She reasoned, undaunted by logic or the dry environment. “This is a wonderful opportunity to provide the community with a valuable resource…”
“Forget it.” He interrupted. “Not happening.”
Clementine mentally tallied her own money. It didn’t take long to add all the single-digit numbers and come up with a slightly larger double-digit number. “Look, I don’t have a lot of resources right now.” She admitted. “But if you’d be willing to take installments on Luke’s rent, I could pay some of it. That would work, right?”
“ Forget it .” Woody repeated. This time the words were a hiss that sent his forked-tongue wriggling out.
“There must be some kind of arrangement we can make.”
“The only kind of ‘arrangement’ you could make with me, I already offered you.” Woody reminded her nastily. “You weren’t interested. So, I’m not making any deals with…” He stopped mid-word, his eyes fixed on something behind Clem’s shoulder.
She turned and saw Bill in the doorway of their apartment. He was backing her up, even though it was no doubt anathema to his mild nature. One of his shoulders was leaning on the jamb, like he was perfectly at ease.
…But his eyes were positively glowing . The vivid blue was electrified with that marvelous, protective magic. It was the hottest thing she’d ever seen in her life.
Clementine forgot what she’d even been talking about, her mind consumed with frantic images of dragging Bill into her bedroom and having that powerful glow all to herself. His scorching eyes running over her body, as she ripped off his clothes and ravished him.
“Howdy, Woody.” Bill said, his tone very, extremely, scarily calm. He was doing a great job of channeling the facade of a dangerous man. Like so many artists, Bill was an incredible actor, throwing himself into the role. It was very convincing. “I believe I asked you to be nice to my roommate.”
Woody’s scales paled, completely buying Bill’s act. “I have been nice. Miss Miner’s a real fine lady. No doubt in my mind. Why, I told the whole building to be on their best behavior, whenever they see her around. You’ll have no problems with anybody, on that score.”
“Never expected I would.” Bill didn’t move, but somehow that seemed like a threat. “What ‘arrangement’ did you offer her?”
“I didn’t offer her an arrangement! Is that what she told you?”
“It’s what you told me. About thirty seconds ago.”
“Oh. Well, that happened days ago, before I knew she was yours.” Woody’s laugh was too high and too fast. “It was really just a joke, anyhow. You know what a kidder I am. And I did it in a totally respectful way. You can’t blame me for any of that.”
“Should I blame you for upsetting her now? Because she looks upset.”
“I’m upset.” Clementine agreed, playing along.
“She’s upset.” Bill told Woody. It was a spectacularly menacing delivery. Clem now understood how he’d managed to persuade people around here that he was a hardass.
“She’s butting into my business!” Woody jerked his chin towards Luke’s door so forcefully that the curly-cues on his handlebar mustache bobbed. “I have to evict that coyote kid. I’ve already got someone else lined up to rent the place. Your girl’s gotta be reasonable.”
Bill didn’t deny that she was “his girl”. “Clem says the boy’s not home, so the boy’s not home.” He stated that like it wasn’t even an argument.
The curtains shifted again. Luke peered out, his attention on Bill. Pale-brown eyes were full of surprise.
Clementine grinned and gave him a furtive wave.
The curtain swung closed.
She sighed with tolerant affection. How could everyone fear coyotes? She’d only ever met two members of their species, but they were both so non-confrontational. It was probably taking all of Bill’s thespian skills to intimidate Woody.
“Yeah, but I heard music in there.” The naga whined, pointing towards Luke’s apartment.
“I’ll keep an ear out for it.” Bill promised.
“But…”
“Bye, Woody.”
Woody took a hint and made a break for the stairs, as quick as a winged-jackrabbit.
“And you still haven’t repaired the leak in our bathroom!” Clementine called after the manager, while he was still within shouting range. “The drywall behind the cabinet is all mushy, now. Just like I warned you would happen!”
“I can fix the sink.” Bill volunteered, in his usual accommodating way. “Been meaning to get to it.”
Of course he could do home maintenance. He was so proficient in everything. It was no wonder Clem wanted to have his babies.
“Woody’s supposed to handle repairs, according to the lease. I checked.” She said, before Bill headed off to get his tool belt and sent her lust spiraling even higher. “What if you hit your thumb with a hammer and it impacts your guitar-playing?”
Rosalee let out a sudden shout of rage. “You son of a bitch!” She came marching out onto the walkway. “You call that a retraction?”
Bill’s gaze swung towards their unwelcomed visitor.
Clementine blinked, because she’d forgotten the other woman was even there. “Why are you yelling at…?”
“Look at what Bill just put out!” Rosalee interjected, holding up her phone. “He’s made everything worse.”
Clementine scanned Bill’s post.
Quit the band. Had no choice, given John Jacob Jingleheimer-Schmidt’s recent actions. The Yellow Roses no longer represents my values, as someone who supports women in the music business.
Beneath the three sentences were dozens and dozens of messages from Bill’s multitude of loyal followers. Speculating on what Johnny had done. Expressing solidarity with Bill’s impassioned moral stand on whatever it was that had happened. Offering their own stories of egotistical lead singers behaving badly. LOLing about Johnny’s real name.
Clementine looked up at Bill through her lashes and arched an amused brow. He wasn’t a verbose man, but he was a musician. A poet. All his words were carefully considered. He knew exactly what he was doing when he’d typed such a strong statement about Johnny’s bullshit.
“That band was just as much yours as his.” Bill said seriously. “I don’t appreciate how he claimed he did all the work, while you just sat around inspiring him. He disrespected your contributions.”
“This isn’t going to diffuse Johnny’s PR problems. Most of the Yellow Roses’ fans are women.”
Bill lifted one shoulder in an innocent shrug. “Guess he shoulda thought of that, before he screwed over his business partner.”
Clem grinned. Bill had a mischievous streak, no doubt about it.
“We’ll be putting out our own statement in response.” Rosalee snapped, snatching her phone back from Clementine. “Count on it.” She went stomping away in her tasteful Herring Box heels.
Bill and Clementine’s attention stayed on each other.
“Okay, that was kind of awesome.” Clem wrinkled her nose, delighted by Bill’s Bad side and how he’d stuck up for her professional abilities. “Johnny is going to be fielding questions about his rotten behavior for weeks.”
“As he should. Firing you was the biggest mistake he ever made.”
“You are an unbelievable friend. You always look out for me, even when it means you lose multiple jobs and face down nagas. Thank you, Bill.”
“You never have to thank me. I do what I do because I’m selfish. I want you happy with me and so I work to make that happen.” He kissed her forehead, before she could come up with an answer.
Heat flitted through her system at the brush of his lips against her skin.
“Nobody in this whole world is allowed to hurt you.” His deep voice was like music, his eyes still electrified with magic. “If they try, you just tell me their name. Okay?”
“Okay.” She agreed breathlessly.
“Good.” It was a rumble of satisfaction. “You gotta be more careful, baby. Sometimes I catch a scent of something around this complex that I don’t like. I can’t get a clear read on it, over the smell of that damn swampy pool water, but…” He shook his head. “You have to stay safe. No more being alone with strange men.”
“I can handle Woody.”
“No, I’ll handle Woody. The man’s gotten on my Bad side.” He reached out to toy with the ends of her hair. “You’re in charge of the music business. I’m in charge of handling assholes.”
“That is the music business.”
Bill snorted in amusement. “I’ve gotta go down to the trading post and get me a blue shirt. You gonna be okay here?”
“Yep. I’m working up our budget for the month, and then I’m going to call around to see if I can get you a slot performing at the next Roundup Concert. Remember to be at the Lone Prairie at three o’clock for rehearsal.”
He lifted a hand in acknowledgment, as he loped down the steps. “Count on it, darlin’.” He headed off, whistling some tune she didn’t know. And she knew a lot of tunes. It made her think maybe he was making it up in his head.
That was very encouraging.
Clementine stood there for a long moment, flushed with renewed confidence. “You sounded amazing, Luke.” She called over her shoulder. “Wonderful interpretation of… that song.”
It was hard to tell exactly what Luke had been playing, because he’d really made it his own. That was the mark of a true artist.
The door cracked open. “Who was that other lady?” Luke demanded.
A sliver of apartment showed behind him, looking very, very dark. Clem suppressed a shiver. She hated the dark.
“That was Rosalee Tawny. The manager of my former band.”
“Bill’s former band too, right? And now his former manager just drops by his house, early in the morning.” The kid scoffed. “You don’t think that’s weird?”
“She’s upset about Bill’s Ti-Yi-Yo account.”
Luke crossed his arms over his chest. He was even better looking, now that she could see him in the light. With brooding features and striking white hair, he would be a heartbreaker one day. “I’ll bet your precious Bill is fucking Rosalee, behind your back.”
“You’re too young to use that kind of language.” She sent him a repressive frown. “But since you’re so interested, Rosalee is sleeping with my former roommate, Johnny.”
Luke’s head tilted in a way that reminded her of Bill. “You used to live with some other guy?” He asked, his eyes sharpening.
“Yes, Johnny and I were best friends, until it all fell apart.”
“Oh, I can guess how it ‘all fell apart’.” Luke mocked. “At least for dumb ol’ Johnny. Bill wrecked everything.”
“Don’t be silly. Bill didn’t do a thing to…”
Luke cut her off. “How do you know this other guy is having sex with Rosalee?”
“Bill told me.”
Luke made a frustrated sound, like he couldn’t understand how she was falling for some very obvious trick. “He’s lying, so you’d move in with him! Bill’s sleeping with Rosalee himself and framing this Johnny guy to break up your friendship.”
The idea of Rosalee and Bill together had Clementine’s stomach sinking. “Johnny ruined our friendship all on his own. And if Bill was sleeping with Rosalee, he would tell me so.”
“No, he wouldn’t. Coyotes are liars.”
“You are a coyote.”
“That’s how come I know it’s true.” Luke’s pale brown eyes burned into hers. “Look, you seem… nice. I’ve never met anyone nice before. I kind of like it. I don’t know why , but I kind of do.”
Clementine felt herself soften. Artists were comfortable with muses, even when the artist was a snarky, surly teenager. It was instinctive. She couldn’t understand why Luke was so worried about her relationship with Bill, but she could tell he was trying to protect her. It was sweet, in an unnecessary, exasperating sort of way.
“I like you too, Luke.”
“I didn’t say I liked you .” He stressed grumpily. “I said I liked your niceness. Kind of. But it’s making you think other people are nice too and that just ain’t so. That guy,” he pointed after Bill, “is Bad news. You’ve got a True Love out there someplace. He’s probably nice, just like you. Go find him and forget about the hardass coyote.”
“Bill pretends to be a much bigger hardass than he is.” Clem assured him. “He’s really very gentle.”
Luke looked up at the sky, as if praying for patience. “Bill wants you.” He spelled out in a slow voice. “He’s a coyote. He knows he’ll have to steal you to get you. So that’s what he’s trying to do: Steal you. Understand?”
Clem’s eyes widened. “You really think he wants me?” She asked eagerly.
Luke gave up. Muttering a curse, he stalked back into his apartment, slamming the door behind him. “You’re fucking hopeless!” He shouted through the wood. “Forget I even bothered.”
Ten seconds later fiddle music started playing again. Only this song sounded like a funeral dirge.
At least it was in tune.