[AN] won't lie, this was a tough chapter to write and quite possibly to read, but hopefully y'all will enjoy...
Nicole climbed down from the truck, looking around in mild confusion. The parking lot was an open field, filled with all types of cars and motorcycles, including a whole row of older bikes that made Nicole's heart purr — Harley's, BMWs, Nortons, BSAs, Triumphs, and even a couple of rarer bikes like a Vincent and an old Indian.
She salivated in particular at a bike similar to Brunhilde but beautifully restored with cream paint and soft brown leather seats and grips.
"Put your tongue back in your mouth, Haught-rod," chided Wynonna as she pushed her along. "There's drinking and singing and other forms of debauchery to be done here."
Waverly rolled her eyes. "What she really means is, she's going to get drunk and sing along loudly as she feels inspired and maybe punch out any hecklers when Doc plays." She gave her sister a stern look.
Wynonna gave her a wide-eyed innocent look. "I'm the soul of discretion!" Then she smirked. "Except when assholes are around, and is it my fault there are so many?"
"Behave yourself, Nona," Waverly admonished. "And do not get Nicole into trouble."
"You wound me, baby girl."
"I know you, Wynonna Earp."
Nicole cast one more longing look over her shoulder at the motorcycles then allowed herself to get pulled into the dim depths of the clapboard building at the edge of the field. At Waverly and Wynonna's suggestion Rowdy had been left in the company of Dolls (whom the sisters promised would rather eat glass than go with them) for the night and Nicole felt naked without him. However Wynonna assured her that The Stable, as their destination was called, was particularly dog unfriendly with lots of rocking chairs and the inevitable music performance bad enough to make a dog howl.
Rowdy had looked slightly askance at being left behind, but when Dolls produced a large plate of spare ribs to share the dog happily jumped onto the couch next to his new best friend and settled down to watch the Vikings take on the Broncos.
The noise was indeed phenomenal inside, and to Nicole's shock she saw that the name was literal — the original stalls were still largely in place, each now hosting a table and chairs, though the walls were cut down to waist height so everyone had a clear view of the stage. The main corridor was lined with rocking chairs all facing forward. Waitresses carried trays of food and drink into various stalls, and the occasional patron wandered up to the emcee and signed up for a slot. Pictures of musicians lined the walls; Nicole was surprised that she recognized many of the faces.
"George Strait played here?" She asked Wynonna in surprise.
Wynonna nodded, looking around. "We get a lot of pretty good cowboy singers through here. Usually it's a regular music venue, but they have a couple of open-mic nights a month. Doc loves 'em. Almost never misses a chance to do his thing."
A young woman on stage was doing a passable Janis Joplin cover bewailing the loss of Bobby McGee. Most of the audience was singing along lustily and the smell of beer and French fries was almost overwhelming.
Wynonna spotted Doc lounging in one of the stalls closest to the stage, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He smiled and stood as he saw them coming, tipping his hat.
"I cannot express my appreciation enough for your support this evening, ladies," he declared, waving down a waitress. "Three more whiskeys, Miss Charlotte, if you please."
"Anything you need, Doc," she replied breathily leaning over with an obvious display of sizable assets. Docs eyes twinkled merrily but he made an admirable effort to keep his gaze fixed on her face. Charlotte pouted prettily, then beat a hasty retreat as she noticed Wynonna's malevolent glare.
Doc's smile widened.
"Is whiskey okay, Nicole?" Waverly asked with a worried expression. "It's okay if you don't like it, I can get you something else—"
"Whiskey's fine," Nicole assured her. "Thank you." She allowed herself a small smile at Waverly's obvious concern for her comfort.
The smaller woman's cheeks grew pink and she ducked her head as she sat down.
Nicole looked at where Wynonna was trying to sit close to Doc without looking like she was sitting close to Doc, then turned to catch Waverly watching them as well. She met Nicole's gaze, then grinned and shrugged.
The deputy leaned over. "I thought she and Dolls…"
Waverly made a face. "Ew. That would be like, incest."
Nicole blinked, thinking of the very pale Wynonna and the very dark Dolls.
"They're not really related," Waverly clarified, "But they're more like brother and sister than most siblings you'll ever find. Besides," she lowered her voice even more. "He's very, very gay."
Charlotte returned with a tray full of whiskey tumblers before Nicole could respond. She deftly served out, simpered at Doc, glowered at Wynonna, and retreated once more.
"Thank you kindly, Missy McIntyre, for that fine performance," the emcee announced. "Looking forward to hearing you next month!"
There was a round of enthusiastic applause as the woman bowed and left the stage. The emcee consulted his clipboard.
"We now welcome to the stage a long time Stable open mic favorite, John Henry!"
Doc stood and collected his guitar as the sisters whooped with delight. He smiled. "See you on stage for the second song, Miss Waverly."
Nicole looked around at the enthusiastic crowd.
"He does seem popular."
Wynonna grinned. "Just you wait."
The lights were dimmed and a single spotlight focused onto Doc, now sitting comfortably on a stool, an old and battered guitar propped on his knee. He double checked his amplifier then looked up and grinned widely.
"Howdy folks, it's always a pleasure to see you all."
He ran his pick down his guitars, settling into a steady thrum in a minor key. The crowd quieted at the opening chords.
This is the last cowboy song, the end of a hundred year waltz.
The voices sound sad as they're singing along
Another piece of America's lost
Nicole sat back and absorbed the beautiful yet mournful words coming from the strip club bouncer. The lyrics were poignant even as the music was simple. The faces around her were rapt as Doc's raspy tone painted a picture of a simpler, perhaps non-existent time, but one that every soul in that place yearned for — the time of the noble cowboy and the wide open prairie, lost for all time.
The Old Chisholm Trail is covered in concrete now
And they truck 'em to market in fifty foot rigs
Nicole was startled to see the track of a lone tear slide down Wynonna's face, her expression somehow younger, more vulnerable, as she listened. She glanced again at Waverly who shook her head slightly. Nicole got the message loud and clear, and let Wynonna be.
Like living and dying was all he did
This is the last cowboy song
This is the last cowboy song
The last chord faded away, and the hush of the audience was broken by loud whoops of appreciation.
Doc tipped his hat to the audience with a small smile.
"You folk are too kind, too kind," he said. "But now let's hear from a voice far prettier than mine." He looked over at the table. "If you'd be so kind Miss Waverly?"
Waverly sighed and downed her whiskey before walking up to the stage. Doc handed her his microphone, then leaned over and murmured quietly at her. She paled and started to shake her head, but a few murmured arguments later she nodded glumly, and gripped the microphone more firmly.
"This song is a special request for a special friend, on behalf of new friends, may they always see the best side of us, and forgive us the worst."
Laughter rolled through the crowd as they all leaned forward in anticipation. Nicole felt a slight twinge of alarm at Waverly's expression.
The music this time was a fast and wildly intricate picking pattern. Nicole was transfixed at Doc's incredible technique. Waverly looked down at met her eyes, her expression tender. Then she closed her eyes and lifted her head as she raised the microphone.
Says Red Molly to James, that's a fine motorbike
A girl could feel special on any such a like
Said James to Red Molly, my hat's off to you
That's a Vincent Black Lightening 1942
I've seen you at the corners and cafe it seems
Red hair and black leather my favorite color schemes
And he pulled her on behind
And down to Boxhill they did ride
Nicole felt her eyes sting and her chest purr at the sweet sound of Waverly's voice, and she wondered what had caused the earlier look of trepidation.
Says James, to Red Molly, "Here's a ring for your right hand.
But I'll tell you in earnest I'm a dangerous man;
For I've fought with the law since I was seventeen
I robbed many a man for my Vincent machine
I'm twenty-one years now I might make twenty two
I don't mind dying but for love of you
And if fate should break my stride
Then I give you my Vincent to ride
Oh.
Oh, God.
A whispered sob caught in Nicole's chest as she watched Waverly's face, the smaller woman's expression full of emotion, her shoulders hunched as if in pain.
Come down, come down Red Molly, cried Sergeant McRae
For they've taken young James Adie for armed robbery
Nicole gripped the arms of her chair. Waverly's voice grew a little more emotional, the song's story line obviously steaming towards a sad ending.
Come down, Red Molly, to his dying bedside
Wynonna noticed her tension and looked over with a smirk, which faded as she saw the expression on Nicole's face. She clearly had hoped for a different reaction.
When she got to the hospital there wasn't much left
He was running out of road, he was running out of breath
But he smiled to see her cry
He said I give you my Vincent
To ride
"Hey, Haught— Fuck. Nicole, hey, are you okay?" Wynonna's had gripped her shoulder. Nicole struggled between wanting to throw off her hand and flee, and wanting Wynonna's strong presence to hold her steady, keep her grounded.
Said James in my opinion there's nothing in this world
Beats a Fifty-Two Vincent and a red-headed girl
Now Triumphs and Nortons and BSAs won't due
They don't have a soul like a Vincent Fifty-two
And he reached for her hand and slipped her the keys
Said I've got no further use for these
Wynonna's went around her shoulder, her voice indistinct but warm in her ear, offering comfort. Her breath was coming in hard gasps and she struggled to breathe normally.
I see Angels and Arials in leather and chrome
Swooping down to heaven, to carry me home…
Waverly's voice was pure and true, rising into the rafters like a fervent prayer. Both hands held the microphone now, and tears were visible on her cheeks as she sang. Beside her Doc's cheeks were also wet at the emotion in Waverly's voice and the way she caressed the words, his own eyes closed as his fingers danced along the fretboard.
And he gave her one last kiss and died
And he gave her his Vincent
To ride
The crowd was on its feet, clapping and stomping and cheering at such a performance.
"Give it up for Doc and Waverly, as fine a performance as we've seen here at the Stable," crowed the emcee, leading the raucous applause.
Waverly gave a quick curtsy and a wan smile, then turned to look for Nicole, nervous for how her new friend might have reacted.
To her horror, the table was empty, one chair overturned.
Nicole and Wynonna were gone.
[NOTE]
Doc's first song is "The Last Cowboy" by Ed Bruce. Waverly's song is "1952 Vincent Black Lightening" by Richard Thompson. I've played the latter myself in coffee shops as a much younger person (though did not play the guitar part anywhere close to how Mr Thompson does, dear lord that man has some crazy good licks)