All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc are the intellectual property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 1

The early morning April sun fell warm and soothing on Edward's back as he knelt at the edge of the field, eying with satisfaction the long, straight rows fanning out before him. He took pride in the symmetry of the pattern in the reddish brown Georgia soil. There were not that many people left in the world, this hemisphere anyway, who could plow a row that straight with a horse-drawn plow. Pulling off a stained baseball cap that had seen better days, he mopped a sweat drenched brow on the faded denim of his shirt sleeve, and decided there were probably not that many who would even want to try.

Raising his face to the friendly warmth, he closed his eyes and savored the rich, fertile aroma of the newly turned earth and the delicate fragrance of honeysuckle, coaxed out and spread like a blessing by the gentle sun. In just a few weeks that same sun would turn savage and he would be fighting to save his crops from its merciless intensity, but for now he could enjoy the peace of the moment and the sense of accomplishment that came from hard work, well done.

The feelings were new to him, although the work was not. He had grown up on a farm, but it had been a long hard road that brought him back to it. The past ten years had been very different from farm life, and far from peaceful. Right now the most drama around him was whether or not Elsie would calve on time, and that was just the way he wanted it.

Herman stomped his foot, shivered his flank and swished his tail at a fly who was out early to torment his shiny hide. Edward stood, with some difficulty, and patted the horse on his thickly muscled neck. "OK, fella, you've earned your oats this week, that's for sure. Let's go get breakfast." As he lead the huge beast back to the barn the limp in Edward's left leg was even more pronounced. The past few days of struggling along behind a creature with four good legs had taken their toll on his damaged muscles, and he winced as a particularly sharp twinge pierced his usually stoic expression.

Pausing, he leaned against the wall of flesh that was Herman for just a moment to take the weight off his bad leg. He would wait until the worst of the pain was gone before heading back. He did not want Jake to see how bad it hurt. He could hear the old coot now, growling about how, "What's needed around here is more common horse sense and less mule headed stubbornness!" Edward had known it would not be easy, that he would pay dearly with extra pain, but he had been determined to plow this field his way, trying to prove something, not to anyone else, just to himself. Next year though, he figured he'd use the tractor. Herman was getting on in years, after all.

The spasm soon passed and he was ready to continue toward the house and barn and his and Herman's respective breakfasts, when a low drone overhead caught his attention. He looked up, seeking the source of the sound. Shading his eyes, he spotted a small plane. Aircraft were common enough that normally they went unnoticed, but this one was in trouble, he could tell by the sound of the engine.

He watched with growing unease as the tiny craft sank rapidly lower, its engine sputtering and finally dying. If he was not mistaken, it would go down in the woods near the back of his and Jake's jointly owned property. The pilot was not bad, it was apparent that a steady had held the controls, and he did not appear panicked by his predicament. Still, there was very little he could do other than keep the nose up and not come in at too steep an angle. Edward followed the course of the troubled craft until it disappeared behind the line of trees on the northern horizon. "Come on Herman," he said to his equine companion, "If they live, those folks are going to need some help."

BR

Jake met him as he came into the barn yard. "Did you see where that plane went down?" he asked, with somewhat uncharacteristic urgency.

"Pretty close. You call the rescue services?"

Jake shook his grizzled head. "Can't. The phone's dead."

"Jesus, not again."

"Again. One of us will have to go."

"Damn. Well, Elsie may drop that calf anytime, and you know more 'bout birthin' babies than I do, so you'd better stay with her. I'll go."

"I figured. I've already started loadin' the truck. I'll finish with Herman, you take a look and see what else you think you might need."

"Right." Edward paused, pulling off his disreputable looking cap and running a shaky hand through tousled coppery locks. "God, I hate this. I've seen enough mangled bodies, I don't want to see anymore."

Jake laid a steadying hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I know son. Are you sure you can do this? I can go and get back before Elsie does anything."

"No, I can handle it." He took a deep breath, determination clenching his chiseled jaw. He looked up at his friend, his deep green eyes troubled. "You know, one of us needs a cell phone."

Jake grunted. "Ain't gonna be me!"

Ten minutes later Edward was on his way, leaving a cloud of gray dust in his wake as he barreled down the dirt road that marked the eastern border of their property. He followed it until it disappeared into the back pasture, and then cut across, heading Northwest toward where he thought the plane might have entered the trees. Twenty minutes later he found it.

The pilot was better than not bad; he had almost managed to set it down in the field. Ten more feet was all he needed, but he just did not have it. He hit the fence and tore it down, dragging wire and post with it as it plunged into the woods bordering the pasture.

Edward climbed out of his faded old red Chevy pickup and approached the battered craft, sniffing carefully for fumes that would threaten an imminent explosion. He was not hopeful of finding anyone alive as he circled around, picking his way over the downed fence and twisted wreckage. The side of the cock pit had been ripped open, and a tangled mass of mahogany curls poured from the hole like blood from a wound.

Hesitantly, dreading what he would find, he knelt and gently pushed the hair out of his way so the face of its owner was visible. It was the most beautiful face he had ever seen, even with an ugly purple bruise on the forehead and a laceration across one side. The damage only served to point up the perfection it had marred. Her shockingly pale skin was dusted across her perfect, delicately up-tilted nose with a light sprinkling of golden brown freckles, the only color in her heart shaped face. Long dark lashes shadowed softly curved white cheeks

He was about to let the hair fall back into place when her eyelids fluttered and opened,

pinning him with her wide, dark gaze. She stared intently into his eyes for an endless moment, and then sighed. "It's OK, little guy," she murmured, "we can trust him, he has good eyes." She closed her own, and he thought she had lapsed back into unconsciousness, when, with a strength and suddenness that startled him, she clutched the hand with which he held back her hair, and focused once more the intensity of her clear, dark gaze on his.

"What ever you do, don't let anybody know I'm here, or that a plane crashed anywhere near. If you do, I promise you, we're dead, all three of us! Please..." Then her eyes lost their focus and closed, her hand fell and her head drooped. The warning had used up the last of her strength.

Her face went so still and white that Edward's stomach clenched in a knot of fear. He gently touched her neck and was rewarded with a butterfly flutter of life under her skin. The knot relaxed slightly. He tried to see beyond her into the plane, assuming from her reference to the "three of them" that someone else, the pilot perhaps, was with her. A cursory glance told him she was alone, perhaps she was delirious from the blow to her head. With a start he realized that she had been flying the plane.

By the time he had extricated her from the wreckage and installed her as comfortably as possible in the bed of the truck his leg was aching fiercely, and his face was nearly as white as hers. He had grave misgivings about moving her, but he could not leave her in the plane; it might be hours before a professional could come to her aid.

Two things became immediately apparent as soon as he got her out where he could get a good look at her. One was that her arm was broken. The other was who she had been talking to when she said, "Little guy". She was very pregnant.