For All We Know


Julie landed on her back in the mud, Robert atop her, his added weight making her sink even more deeply than before. She was nearly completely covered and his front was layered thickly. He was horrified, thinking still she had a broken leg and that he'd fallen not only with her, but atop her.

"Julie!" he cried, putting his knees down on either side of her legs and sliding his hands under her shoulders to lift her enough to get her head out of the mud.

She was shocked, totally taken by surprise and jarred brutally from the poppy-laden meadow in her mind. The world went suddenly brown and she gasped in a mouthful of mud as she landed, instantly choking. Only under the mud for a second or two, it was still enough to fill her mouth and eyes. She felt herself being pulled up and she coughed and gagged and coughed some more.

He saw immediately what was wrong and grabbed her the rest of the way out of the mud and almost toppled with her into the stream. The water was clean and pure; he'd drunk from it before his nap and  he rapidly scooped handfuls of it over her face, into her mouth. He forgot about her leg in his concern to get the mud from her face so she could breathe. It seemed to take a long time for her to get her breath back and when she finally did, he wrapped his bare wet arms around her and pressed her to his chest.

Instantly she fell through that crevice again, Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole. Her brain felt delightfully vague, both from a bit of oxygen deprivation and the presence of his chest against her breasts, so vague, in fact, that her head wobbled on her neck. One of his hands came up to support that, with the result that the crevice opened wider and she fell further into it.

"No," he whispered, and she had no idea what he meant.

Robert thought she was going to pass out and he was urging her to hold on to her consciousness. Her head bobbled against his chin and when he looked down at her face, her eyes were closed, her lips parted. He'd hurt her more. My God, he'd hurt her more. His hand on the back of her head felt the mud and grit that still remained in her hair. He leaned her back again, not so much for the hair this time but in hopes that the water flowing around her might revive her. He was kneeling, straddling her hips, as he held her.

She was in the meadow with Robert bending low over her. It was raining, though the sky was brilliant blue. It must be raining because she was so wet. He was wet.  No matter. Robert was bending over her. She could feel his breath on her face, his lips brushing hers as he whispered his love. In a moment his fingers would find her buttons and then....

He was worried. Her face seemed too pale to him and she kept her lids closed. "Julie," he whispered, bending closely enough to tell if she were breathing. His lips were a mere fraction above hers.

He was magnificent, this man whose body was touching hers. The wet grass blades almost rippled under her, her soul felt so light in his presence. He'd lain her in the poppies, was about to make love to her. She felt like the princess of some lost kingdom and the dragon-slaying knight had arrived at last. She smiled and murmured, "Sir Robert...."

Good God! She KNEW!! Astounded, he released his grip and her head submerged.

She spluttered, sitting so abruptly her forehead smacked into his chin with great force, enough that he saw stars for a moment and slumped to his side.

What had happened? She'd been in the meadow. A flood must've come. All the poppies were gone. Stream water had replaced the mud in her lungs and she coughed so hard she couldn't cough and think at the same time.

As soon as his face went under the water, Robert came to himself, bursting upwards, great coughs wracking their way through his chest. He flopped over, his back against the bank, still coughing and gasping. As his lungs cleared, he became aware she was sitting in the stream beside his legs, her head hanging limply, completely drained from her second coughing fit. It took him a moment to find his voice. "You KNEW!" he accused. "All along you knew. Is that why you invited me to tea?"

Blearily, she opened her eyes, looking at Robert propped against the edge of the stream. Had he been coughing, too? Vaguely she thought she'd heard coughing other than her own. It had to have been him. He was glaring at her. Yes, glaring was definitely the right word. "W...what?"

"You pretended like you didn't know, damn you!"  It was all too convenient. Rose Cottage so near his own hidden retreat. It couldn't be coincidence. And it wasn't. Somehow he'd been tracked down.

Had he said 'damn you'...and to her? "I...I don't...."

"You can stop all the pretending, Julianna. I know why you're here."

"Why...why I'm here? Robert! I'm here to write my book!"

"You think I'd believe such a cock and bull story NOW?" he roared, struggling to his feet.

"What are you TALKING about, Robert?" She'd never felt so at a loss in her life.

"Sir Robert, Julianna. That's what! You called me Sir Robert!! How did you find me?"

"Find you? I wasn't looking for you, Robert. I was looking for a tucked-away place to write my book. That's...all."  She breathed rapidly in and out.
"And what do you mean I called you Sir Robert?"

"In the stream, just a moment ago. You called me Sir Robert."

"The MEADOW!" He meant her sentences in the meadow. He'd come to her as a knight, as Sir Robert.

"The meadow?" he repeated. "What in hell do you mean by that?"

"Sentences. They...they were sentences...in my mind. I...I write sentences. All the time, Robert. It's how I think...written sentences."

"What does that have to do with a meadow?"

"We...I...," no, she couldn't tell him that.

"Well? What does a meadow have to do with your calling me Sir Robert?"

She didn't understand. "Why would that upset you?"

"Why would...? All this way, damn you! All the way to the other side of the world and I'm here a couple of days and there you come!"

Her head was almost spinning with the harshness of his tone, and he was saying one thing after another that made no sense to her. "What does it matter if I came? I don't...."

He narrowed his eyes, intensifying his glare. It was a powerful force, that glare, and she recoiled physically from it. "What does it matter?!?" he bellowed. "You've ruined everything!"

What was he saying? She'd ruined...everything? What, what had she ruined? The contrast between the meadow and his glare was too swift, too jarring, and a few tears slipped down her cheek.

"This is too serious," he said, lowering his voice a bit. "Crying isn't going to undo a thing."  His brow knit in a deep frown.

"I...I...have no...no...idea what I d...did," she sniffed, "so...so...how c...can I undo it?"

"So you know who I am. Ok, is there any way you'd consider just leaving quietly and not writing about it?"

"Writing about...what? Writing about WHAT?"

"My God, woman! When are you going to stop pretending you have no idea what I mean!?!" He was getting even more irritated, if possible. He really liked this place, the house he'd found, the resources for his woodwork. He had no need for an income and this forest had been absolutely perfect for his purposes...until she showed up.

She pressed both wet palms over her face as her response. "You can stop the pitiful act now," he growled.

Slowly, she let her fingers slide down her face and drop to her submerged lap. "I can't do this," she whispered. "I'm too tired." Her chin drooped dejectedly to her chest.

"Bollocks!" he snapped and turned away to leave. A deep sob sounded behind him and, reluctantly, he looked back at her. She still sat there in the stream. For a hard-nosed reporter, she did look pretty pitiful. "Come on," he said, trying to sound normal. "Get up out of the stream."

She didn't move, just sat there choking back sobs. "Crying on the job will get you fired, you know," he tried, his male heart softening just a bit at the sight she presented.

Lifting her chin, she looked at him. "Job? What job?"

"Your story, your exposé about me. What do you think I mean? That is your assignment, isn't it?"

She continued her gaze. "Who...are...you, Robert?"

"As if you didn't know!" he snorted, his voice hardening again.

"I don't know. I don't know how to make you believe me, but I don't KNOW!"

His eyes became mere slits. "Sir Robert, remember? You called me by my title, damn it!"

"You...you're a...a...Sir?"

"Of course I...."  His eyes widened a bit. "Who are you?"

"Julianna St. John," she sighed, "novelist."

"Julianna St....."  His mouth dropped open somewhat. He'd heard the name. "You....you're not...?"

"A reporter? Is that what you think, that I'm a reporter?"  He nodded and she let out a laugh that bordered slightly on the hysterical. "The last reporting I did was on a school newspaper when I was 14. I write books, Robert. BOOKS! That's all. I told you before that was what I did."

He steepled his hands under his chin, staring at her. Julianna St. John. It was the first she mentioned her last name. You couldn't be alive in any intelligent fashion at all, and especially not be English, and not have heard of her. "You...you're here to write? Truly?"

"Truly," she sighed. "And why are you here, Sir Robert?"

"You called me that...a few moments ago you called me that. I need to know why."  He had revealed himself in response to her calling him that. Had he done so needlessly? He pressed his lips together, waiting.

"I tried to explain, Robert. I'm an author. I write constantly. My thoughts are often written sentences. In...in the stream, when you...you...were leaning over me?"  He nodded again.  "I...I was writing. I...liked it...and I was writing sentences."

"About a meadow?"

She chewed her lip. "Yes, about a meadow. And...and you came. And you looked like...like, well, like a knight. And so I called you...."

"Sir Robert," he finished for her, his shoulders sagging. What had he done?

"Are you...Sir Robert?" her voice was very low.

He closed his lids, blowing out a long breath, and nodded.

"But...but why is that a secret?" He'd been almost wild at the thought she knew.

"You really don't know?"

"I don't." She studied the look in his eyes. "But I don't have to know, Robert."

"You don't have to...?" he repeated. She was offering him a gift. As much of a brute as he'd been, she was still offering him a gift. It took him a moment to take it in. "Oh, Julie," he almost moaned, stepping completely back into the stream and kneeling in front of her again. "Julianna St. John, famous author, who needs a quiet place to write."  He took her face between both his hands, placing his warm lips atop her rather cold ones, parting them with his tongue.