No Betas were harmed in the making of this chapter.
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From Chapter 3:
He stumbled to the river and threw himself in, laughing and crying, wanting her so damn much that it hurt to breathe.
In the dead of night, he could pretend that they belonged to each other, as lovers.
And then, one day, everything changed.
He knew this at one glance of her familiar and coveted form.
For on this day, she wore black.
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In the days following the funeral, Charles Swan's daughter was seldom seen to venture outside her home. When she did come to town, Pastor Newton thought she wore her mourning garb like a shield, her allure made more lovely and delicate by grief.
Risking the displeasure of his newly minted fiancee, he found himself being especially attentive to Isabella, as her loss had the strangely conflicting effect of making her seem stoic and at once glass-fragile.
He could not help but be moved.
Truth be told, he worried for her. A woman living alone in a frontier town was vulnerable, no doubt about it.
It was on the day of the funeral that he first noticed her staring off into the mountains with faraway eyes.
Pastor Newton thought and thought, until suddenly, his mind conjured up an image of a stranger whom he'd seen come riding into town on occasion. As he watched Isabella Swan's dark head turn to the mountains again and again, the Pastor's curiosity was piqued.
The stranger did not make an appearance that day, but Pastor Newton's mind spun and worried the thought like a loose tooth until he could stomach it no more.
With Charles Swan given a good burial some days past, Pastor Newton took a stroll to the saloon. He sat outside on a bench alongside old Joe Cope, who'd seen all the comings and goings of Forks since back when it was still called Fords Prairie, and proceeded to ask the man some questions about the mysterious horseman.
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For her part, Isabella had spent the days since her father's passing on quiet reflection, packing away his possessions and sorting through her own. She found herself listening to the house creak and groan beneath her feet as she endured the silence, which had always seemed comforting, but was now oppressive.
She remembered her father's words, preparing herself and gathering courage.
Only be happy, he had said. The words had made an impression on her and still echoed in her ears like a foghorn through mist.
"I'm trying," she whispered into the emptiness. "I want to be."
For all her hopes she'd never felt so alone, her father's absence so acute and hard to fathom, the house too full of memories to be so damn small and empty.
It was time for vague notions to become solid plans.
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Some days later, as she stepped out from the office of J. Jenks, Notary, Isabella felt the fresh air on her face and smiled. It was done, the first wheel in motion, her life no longer uncertain in a bleak future. She felt as though she was writing her own destiny, and it was nothing short of exhilarating.
She cast her eyes over the townscape and found whom she'd wanted to see almost immediately, dismounting from his tall bay and tying the horse to a post near John Banner's store. He stood apart like a black sunbeam and Isabella's heart lodged in her throat. She had known, somehow, that he would be here. She had trusted.
It was not Sunday, and yet he watched the little church, as though he expected the closed door to yield her anyway. When he turned to enter the store, she knew from his suddenly tensed demeanor that he had finally seen her there under Jenks' striped awning.
As she descended the steps from the notary's office onto the road, the sensation of being watched sent a thrilling bolt of heat straight into her gut, low and sweet. She nodded as she passed by him, polite and decorous but for the secret world of her eyes, and when he tipped his hat to her in return, another tooth of the wheel clicked into its groove.
She smiled at his stunned face, gathered a handful of her skirts to keep clear of the mud, and began to walk home, drawing his eyes along with her.
She sensed him watching until she rounded Forks hill, along the road that led to her home.
Isabella, however, did not go home. Instead, she strayed from the road and into the ferns that lined it, disappearing among them like a wisp of black fog.
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Tense and tired, he rode into Forks with a back so stiff even Henry snorted at him-this strange, stony weight perched in the saddle-with disdain.
He found himself standing in front of the store at a loss for what to do and cursing himself for the worst kind of fool. He'd grown careless and knew it, having arrived in town without any thought as to why, having made no plans to account for a visit so soon after the last one.
He turned aimlessly, adrift in the street, and then there she was, beacon-bright, even in her widow's weeds.
His mind reeled with the implications of the latter.
Heart clamouring in his chest, he watched the flutter of loose hair around her face and willed himself to be still, even as she walked past and looked at him, and then, oh God in heaven, smiled! She smiled as though everything between them was real and not just a wishful echo reverberating inside his heart's prison every night.
He noticed that a little mud had stuck to the heel of her boot, and as she walked by him, a roseate glow swept over her face and throat. He would have given his arm to know if her skin was heated by it.
He coveted that skin, her slim wrists, the dip between her clavicles, even the curve of her ear as it disappeared beneath her thick hair. He watched her wend her way home, resolving to approach her as soon as he was safely able, and if she wanted nothing more to do with him, well so be it, he'd have acted at least. He'd have been a man.
He leaned heavily on the wall of the store behind him, and suddenly-
Suddenly he knew even as his skin prickled.
He was being observed.
Casually, as though preparing himself to enter the store, he straightened and rolled his shoulders, quickly glancing every which way. The only pair of eyes trained in his direction belonged to the doughy Pastor, who must have seen their odd, brief exchange, and was no doubt wondering who, and where from, and why.
He knew then he would not be able to come back to Forks. Despair lodged in his throat like he'd swallowed a hot stone.
Pretending he hadn't noticed the Pastor's scrutiny, he quickly ducked into the store and made a purchase for the sake of appearances. He didn't realize he'd bought a pair of scissors until he was back in the saddle on his way out of town, and looking at them heavy and glinting in the palm of his hand.
He was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts when Henry snorted indignantly. Instantly, his awareness snapped back to his surroundings.
Though outwardly he had not changed his stance in the saddle, the weight of his Colt sat suddenly heavier over his hip. The pine forest stretched out endlessly in front of him, and at first he couldn't fathom the reason for Henry's unease.
It was too quiet.
Henry continued onward, hooves kicking up slivers of soil on the dirt road, ears flicking and panning for sounds, until at last, the forest yielded its secret.
The sea of fern and frond parted to his left, and from it emerged Isabella, silent, black as a wraith, and looking directly at him.
He could not comprehend what he was seeing.
Henry came to a stop as both man and horse froze under her intent, unwavering gaze.
Startled, he acted on instinct, greeting her with a slight tip of his felt hat.
Isabella inclined her sleek, dark head toward him, returning the courtesy.
He thought his heart would stop at the grace with which she moved toward him, and he sat rooted to the spot, gripping Henry's reins in hot fists.
"Hello," she said quietly, her dark eyes unreadable. "My name is Isabella Swan, and I'm very pleased to finally make your acquaintance. Mister Masen, I presume?"
It seemed like an age before he could force a response past the great obstacle suddenly lodged in his throat. He should have thought of this. Should have realized she was clever, too. Should have known she was perfect. Rusty and hoarse, his words fell haltingly. "That was a long time ago. It's Edward now. Edward Cullen."
And then, he dismounted from his saddle, and came toward her with his heart singing, Yes, yes, and now.
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A/N: Thank you for reading.