Page 71 of My UnTrue Love
Lyrics from the folk song “Crossroads Coyote”
The night was filled with flashing lights and animated voices.
The bar fight had been the biggest ta-doo in Red River Valley since those prairie dogs were busted for selling dangerous potions underground. The horrible aroma of burnt leather had given away their operation, because that telltale scent indicated Hasten-2. It led right back to the prairie dogs’ vast network of burrows.
However, this saloon brawl was far more exciting than some artists inadvertently destroying their creativity with illicit magic.
The fight happened right in the middle of town, so everyone could gather and watch the fun. Each person who’d been in the Lone Prairie had an opinion on how it all went down. They were eager to share their views with news crews and lookie-loos alike.
Desert Pete, the Lone Prairie’s owner, was showing reporters pictures of the damage. “Like a bucking bronco got loose in the joint!” was his favorite description, so he kept repeating it into various microphones. “I never shoulda let a damned coyote through the door.”
Saloon patrons chatted amongst themselves or filmed the chaotic scene with their phones. Most of them were just thrilled to have gotten out of paying their bar tabs.
Stew was whining to anyone who would listen. His arm was in a sling, because Bill had snapped it in two. That was a real cryin’ shame. But it wasn’t half as painful as what Bill would do to him, once the authorities weren’t watching. …Real quiet and indirect.
Nobody touched his mate.
The “stolen” part of the title had faded from his mind, somehow. Clem was rightfullyhis. His mate. No one else’s.
Clementine was standing with a cop, a few yards away, giving her statement. The guy was huge.Colossallyhuge, with dark skin, dark eyes, and a dark scowl. There was a tin star on his chest, which meant he was the sheriff.
Wonderful.
The sheriff didn’t seem happy to be hearing whatever it was she had to say. He kept shaking his head in frustration and occasionally jabbing a lecturing sort of finger at her. He’d also wiped at her arms and hair with a red bandana, making sure she was cleaned up from the beer that had been flying around during the fight.
Clementine was sassing him back, even as she stood still and let him tend her.
Who was this guy and how did Clem know him so well? Their obvious closeness was worrisome. It reminded Bill that Dinah had insinuated that the sheriff was bonded to Clem somehow.
He didn’t like that idea. At all.
Bill was the only person in a three-block radius not talking. He sat quietly on a bale of hay, handcuffed and waiting to be formally arrested. He figured he was gonna take the blame for the fight. All the other punches being thrown would be glossed over. If a coyote was present and mayhem happened, it was the coyote’s fault.
“That maniac belongs behind bars!” Once the witch-practitioner finished patching Stew up, the jackass was headed Bill’s way. “I wanna press charges! I wanna testify to my pain and suffering!”
Clementine left the gargantuan sheriff, so she could rush in front of Stew. She stood between him and Bill, like she was ready to fight the man herself. “Leave him alone!You’rethe one who started this!”
Fuck.
“Clem,no.” Bill got to his feet. “Don’t go near him.”
“He started it.” She repeated stubbornly.
“I know, but you can’t be under stress. It’s bad for your health and that’s more important than some pissed-off railroader.” Not to mention that Stew was twice her size. “Come on over here by me.”
She immediately headed his way.
“Clementine, don’t you dare.” The sheriff snapped, striding over. “Get away from both of them. Right now.”
Clem didn’t quite obey that order. She just eased closer to Bill at a slower rate.
Not satisfied, the sheriff crooked a massive finger at her. “Now.” He repeated sternly.
The man’s proprietary tone had Bill’s hackles rising. The sheriff was acting as if he had rights over Clementine.
That just wasn’t gonna work for Bill.
“She’sfinestandin’ by me.” He told the sheriff emphatically.
