The Man and The Outlaw

Chapter Six

Once Mae was calmed down for a second time, insisting upon taking a shower to warm herself and stop the trembling that continued to rack her body, Clara marched outside. Loren sat in one of the rocking chairs on the porch as the rain settled into a quiet drizzle around them, leaning forward with his head in his hands. He looked up quickly as he heard the door open, eagerness and fear fighting for control of his features.
"You're an idiot," Clara spat at him.
"You're mad at me now too?" He gaped.
"What were you thinking, leaving her like that? Didn't you care for her?"
"Clara, I love her!" Loren stood up, taller than he'd stood since they'd decided to go off and seek rest at Mae's. He said it firmly, zealously, but also almost casually, as though it was the most obvious thing in the entire world, something he felt was just right, that needed no further explanation. Clara had suspected this all along but hearing him pronounce it gave her a little pause.
"If you love her, then why on God's green Earth did you leave her to chase outlaws with me, huh?"
Clara was furious but mostly with herself. Once she'd found out who was responsible for the death of her father, she had mulled over what to do for about a month. When she'd finally decided to go after him herself, Loren had been her first call. She'd meant only to let a friend know what she was up to in case things took a dire turn and she ended up as dead as her father down the road. She hadn't known he would show up to help her, joining the cause like a patriotic soldier. She'd been glad to have him, the task before her was awfully daunting alone, and she'd let that blind her to any pertinent questions she should've been asking about the life he was leaving behind.
She cursed herself and sat down in the chair beside the one Loren had just vacated. He watched her warily and then replaced himself in his own seat.
"Clara, I couldn't let you go alone," he told her, speaking quietly, delicately.
"I never asked you to come," she muttered, feeling grossly responsible for all the chaos that had ensued since she'd decided to hunt The Outlaw.
"You didn't have to. I knew what you aimed to do the minute you told me who'd pulled the trigger on your father. I knew you wouldn't listen if I told you not to go."
Loren took off the soaked hat on his head and set it on the porch at his feet. When he spoke again, he was looking off towards the horses and the yard, unwilling to look at her.
"I kept seeing you dead every time I closed my eyes, Clara. And then, I'd think about your dad, all he did for me growing up. All those little things he didn't have to do, that nobody asked him to do, but he did anyway, and I was just supposed to let his daughter up and get herself killed? I couldn't do it.
"So, I left," he finished somberly. His voice had held true for the telling, but his hands were shaking as he wrung them in his lap. Clara reached out with her own and steadied them in a tight grip.
"I don't deserve your friendship Loren Winchester," she told him, tears pricking her eyes in spite of herself. "I'm so sorry to have caused all this."
He sat up straighter and looked her in the eye, switching positions with their hands so that he now held hers.
"I'm a man, Clara. I make my own decisions. It's my own fault Mae hates me, not yours."
Clara stood up, spurred to action by her responsibility in this whole mess.
"I don't think she hates you, Lore," she said, remembering Mae's heartbreaking sobs. "Why didn't you just tell her what you were doing? She would've understood."
"I know she would've," he grunted, shuffling his feet. "She would've wanted to come with me and when I told her no, she would've sat in this house, waiting for me to come back.
"What if I never did? What if something happened and I couldn't come back, and she sat here waiting until it broke her?"
He shook his head hard, stubbornly pushing the thought of that away. "I'd rather she hate me than do that to her."
If he'd seen her in there, he'd have known that she was broken anyway but Clara didn't allow herself to point that out. He'd meant well with what he'd done, as misguided as it may have been, and she believed that he loved the woman as much as she still loved him. She also believed that this could be fixed. He only needed to explain himself and Mae would have to see the love there again. At least, Clara hoped she would. She needed to fix this because, as much as Loren protested, she knew she was more than a little at fault.
Before she could even begin to plot out a course of action however, the front door opened and Mae stepped out, her focus squarely on Clara.
"I'm making dinner and it should be ready in the next twenty minutes or so. Your friend's drying off in the guest room. I gave him some dry clothes that...that I had lying around," she said, darting her eyes towards Loren and away quickly with the adjustment of the last phrase.
Loren stood up, his hands held out in front of him in an almost begging sort of manner, and Mae took a step back towards the door. Loren froze, not wanting to spook her away.
"Mae, can I just explain something to you? Please?" He asked desperately.
She was shaking her head as the words fell from his lips. "You can't say anything that's going to change my mind, Loren. What you did was unforgivable."
Clara cringed at the word and Loren deflated instantly, all hope of reprieve vanishing in one fell swoop. Clara got to her feet as he slouched back into his chair in defeat. She took Mae aside, her friend going along a little unwillingly, and tried to convince her to give him a chance.
"I think you should hear him out, Mae. He means well," she told her. Mae studied Clara's face skeptically.
"Reckon you must've heard his side, then?" she questioned, and Clara nodded.
Leaning in closer to Clara, almost conspiratorially, Mae whispered, "Has he got a good enough reason at least?"
At that, Clara realized just how big of a show the anger had been from Mae. She wanted nothing more than to forgive Loren, would be all too glad to have him back, but pride and sorrow made for a stubborn combination. Clara gave her a slight smile and shrugged her shoulders patiently.
"Like I said, he means well," raising her voice so Loren could hear, she continued, "even if he is foolhardy sometimes. He loves you."
It was enough for Mae to agree to sit and listen to what he had to say. Clara felt a little relieved as she left them on the porch and went back into the house. There was no doubt that they would reenter the place together and their stay would become infinitely more pleasant because of it.
Walker was seated on the couch as she entered, looking slightly funny in clothes that were several sizes too large for him. He met her eyes questioningly as she came in and sat down in an empty armchair.
"She gonna kill him or what?" he asked cautiously, and Clara burst into laughs, unable to help it.
"They're in love," she giggled. "The prospect of her killing him is always going to be high."
"Yeah, I'm sure," he scoffed.
"Ever been?"
"Huh?"
"In love, I mean," she questioned, feeling compelled to know the answer more than she felt awkward asking.
Walker scratched at the back of his neck a little uncomfortably and shook his head. "Always kept too busy, I guess."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," she replied.