Page 13 of My UnTrue Love
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 likethat.” 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 themeanestlady 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 claimhis 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 foryears. 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.AndI 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’sa 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’snevergonna 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 justwas.
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?”
