Semper Fi (5 page)

The rooster hadn’t even crowed yet, but Cal was wide awake. He’d never had trouble sleeping, even after he joined up, and had always been able to go back under quite easily. But after the constant noise of war and a few years in civilization again, it was far too quiet in Clover Grove.

He watched the sky lighten inch by inch through the window, telling himself he should get another hour or so of rest. Yet his eyes remained stubbornly open. At the back of his mind was the constant reminder that Jim slept at the end of the hall.

Sighing, Cal rolled over. He wasn’t sure why he continued torturing himself. Jim could have hired anyone to replace Eddie, but as soon as Cal had heard the man left, he’d insisted on taking over. First there had been business in London he had to finish, but Jim had seemed happy to wait for him. There wasn’t as much to do around an orchard in winter, he’d said.

As much as Cal would have liked to leave his father high and dry, he’d given fair notice and trained his replacement. He didn’t miss the job one bit. After fighting the Japs and watching too many good men die, the chicanery of international banking seemed so meaningless.

Of course his father had blown his lid when Cal told him he was leaving to work on an orchard. But he’d missed Jim so much, and maybe…

No.

Flipping onto his other side, Cal told himself sternly to stop thinking Jim could ever feel the same way. Jesus, Jim had just lost his wife, and more than that, he wasn’t queer. Cal needed to go back to sleep and stop daydreaming.

Yet when he closed his eyes, the longing was an ache. After the war, he’d refused to allow himself the fantasies that had kept him going during the endless nights in the stink of the jungle. A few times beneath his blanket, with death all around, he’d taken himself in hand with thoughts of Jim running riot through his mind, clinging to scant moments of release and escape.

Now, under Jim’s roof, Cal’s body came alive and he gave up on sleep. He slept shirtless, and quickly kicked off his boxers before licking his palm and grasping his shaft. Just as he had on the islands, he turned onto his stomach, muffling his low moans as he stroked his swelling cock. Only this time there was a soft pillow beneath him instead of a folded-up raincoat.

He flicked his thumb over the head of his dick, sending a bolt of electricity through his body. Bracing himself on his left elbow, he thrust his hips, fucking his own hand. In his mind, it was Jim on his knees before him, mouth open wide, taking every inch of Cal and wanting more.

Groaning, Cal could almost feel Jim’s fine hair as he reached out in his imagination, holding Jim’s head, caressing him as he told him how good he was. Jim would pull off, a long string of saliva hanging from his lips. He’d suck his index finger and reach between Cal’s legs, pushing it deep inside him as he took Cal into his mouth again.

With a gasp, Cal tightened his grip on his cock as the pressure built to a crescendo already and burst out, white hot. He took a shuddering breath as he came, imagining Jim swallowing it all. They would kiss, tongues stroking, and then Cal would get on his hands and knees, Jim thrusting inside him with his throbbing—

A cry pierced the air, and in his haze Cal froze. Had he made that noise? Then the rooster crowed again, and he slumped against the sticky sheets, wondering belatedly if Mrs. O’Brien did the laundry, and when would be a good time to sneak down and wash his bedding.

Cal couldn’t find Jim when he went downstairs, although there was evidence of breakfast in the pile of dishes on the counter. He quickly ate a bowl of flaked cereal after skimming the cream off the container of milk in the fridge. He wasn’t sure he’d ever tasted milk fresh from the cow before, but found he liked it.

Outside, Adam ran in circles, chattering to himself while Jim sharpened a machete with a leather strop. “I’m almost afraid to ask.” Cal grinned as he approached.

Smiling, Jim nodded to another long blade resting by the paddock fence. “That’s yours over there. We’ve got to get all the trees pruned. I’ve been doing it myself, but there are still a few acres left.”

Picking up his machete, Cal tested its weight, swinging it through the air. “You sure our Ka-Bars wouldn’t be better?”

At the mention of their foot-long fighting knives, Jim laughed. “We want to prune the trees. Not stab them in the guts.”

Adam cried out gleefully, and Cal turned to see a woman he presumed to be Mrs. O’Brien pedaling up the laneway. She was about fifty or so, and her dark, graying hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Slightly stout and not unattractive, Cal imagined she had been a beauty in her youth. She wore a calf-length navy dress and sturdy shoes.

She leaned her bicycle against the side of the house and swept Adam up into her arms while he giggled. She smiled at Cal. “This must be Calhoun.”

Wincing, Cal smiled back. “It’s Cal. No one’s called me Calhoun in…well, actually, I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that. Even my mother. A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“Did Sophie get on the bus all right?” Jim asked.

“Yes, it pulled up at the end of the lane just as I did,” Mrs. O’Brien replied.

To Cal, Jim said, “I’ll just go get the rest of the equipment from the barn.” He loped off in that direction.

“Do you have far to come?” Cal asked Mrs. O’Brien.

“Oh no, not far. A mile or so.” She lowered Adam to the ground and gave him an affectionate pat on his rear end. “Now that I can ride over with the snow gone, it takes no time at all, really.” Her strong Irish lilt gave her voice a pleasant, sing-song quality.

Barking happily, Finnigan raced toward them from the orchard. Mrs. O’Brien scratched behind his ears. “I always give him the scraps when I’m cooking, and I swear he has an alarm that tells him when I’m due to arrive. Little scallywag.”

Cal patted Finnigan. “It’s very good of you to help out Jim like this.”

“It’s the least I can do for a neighbor. He’s such a fine young man. Lost his mother far too young, and always took good care of his father. And his wife when she came along.” She
tsked
. “Such a terrible business.”

Cal had only heard the barest of details via telegram. “Did they ever discover why the car went off the road?”

“No. They said the brakes appeared to be in working order. The best they could guess was she’d just been going too fast, which doesn’t sound like Ann at all. Of course who can say what she was even doing out on the road at that time.”

“Was it very late? I’m afraid I don’t know the details.”

“Yes, quite late, apparently. It wasn’t until dawn that she was discovered. There was nothing to be done for her by then.”

Cal filed this curious information away. “It’s a terrible loss.” As much as he still envied Ann, he’d certainly never wanted her to come to any harm.

Mrs. O’Brien nodded sadly. “Jim survives that bloody war and not three years later his wife leaves him and the little ones behind. God has a cruel sense of humor, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Cal reached down and ruffled Adam’s hair as the boy tugged his trouser leg. “Well, it’s still good of you to go out of your way to help.”

“Oh, it’s a pleasure. As long as my husband’s dinner is ready when he comes home from the office he’s happy. Gerald’s a doctor in Tivoli, and he’s an easy man, thank the heavens. I love the children, and mine are gone now. Theresa, she’s off in Albany with her husband, starting a family of her own. I told her I’d never forgive her for having my grandchildren so far away, but they never listen, you know.” She winked, and then her smile faded. “And Stephen didn’t make it back from Europe.”

Cal would have thought he’d be used to it by now, but he still found himself clearing his throat awkwardly. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“He and Jim grew up together. Stephen was in the Airborne—jumping out of airplanes. Made it through D-Day, but not long after that. He was a hero, they said.” Her gaze was lost on the horizon. “I’m sure they say that about all the boys who didn’t make it home.”

“They were heroes, ma’am.” He had no doubt. Even if Stephen O’Brien had died in an instant, another senseless death amid the millions, he was a hero. More of a hero than Cal could ever be.

“Yes, well.” She shook her head and clapped her hands together, addressing Adam. “Now what will we do today while your daddy and Uncle Cal are hard at work? Shall you help me peel the potatoes? I think you’ll be very good at it.”

Cal nodded goodbye as she ushered Adam toward the house. Picking up his machete, he squared his shoulders. Since the war’s end, he hadn’t done much but push paper and glad-hand bigwigs in New York and across the pond. Inhaling in the crisp morning air, he went to work.

As Cal tip-toed from the bathroom down the darkened hall, he stretched his aching shoulders. Pruning was damn hard work, but it had felt good to fall into bed exhausted and go out like a light. He was certainly looking forward to more shuteye before morning.

A muffled cry stopped him in his tracks. Cal looked back over his shoulder toward Jim’s bedroom at the end of the hall, listening intently. Another cry—louder this time—echoed in the night, and Cal’s gut twisted at the distress in Jim’s voice.

Barely restraining himself from throwing open Jim’s bedroom door, Cal twisted the handle and peeked in. Lying on his stomach in his pajamas, the sheets twisted about his legs, Jim whimpered and writhed, his eyes screwed shut. Cal closed the door behind him and hurried to the bed, shaking Jim’s shoulder before leaning back out of reach.

Sure enough, Jim lashed out, limbs twitching as he woke gasping. Sweat soaked his hair and dampened his pajama top. Chest heaving, he gazed up at Cal, unfocused.

Cal kept his voice low. “It’s okay. It was just a dream. Everything’s okay.”

Blinking, Jim peered around the room with jerky movements before coming back to Cal. With a shuddering exhale, he swallowed thickly. “I…” He ran a hand through his hair. He rasped, “I’m sorry.”

Perching on the side of the bed, Cal smiled softly. “It’s all right. Sounds like it was a doozy.”

Jim nodded.

“The same as before?”

Nodding again, Jim pushed himself up against the headboard, clasping his knees to his chest. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

Cal hated that Jim was still haunted by the war. By that night. “Nothing” was the last word Cal would use. Jim still trembled, and Cal yearned to pull him close. Instead he went to Jim’s dresser and pulled open a few drawers of neatly folded clothing before finding a fresh pair of pajamas. “Here. You’ll feel better.”

Jim went to work on his buttons with shaking hands. He managed to undo one before Cal sat beside him and reached over. “It’s okay. I got it.” He made quick work of the buttons and peeled the damp shirt from Jim’s arms. In the bright moonlight, he could see the spattering of freckles and light hair across Jim’s firm chest and barely resisted the urge to touch.

Forcing his mind to stay on task, he handed Jim the fresh pajamas and went to the window, imagining all too clearly Jim’s lean thighs and tight buttocks. He started talking, the words tripping out. “Great view of the orchard from up here. What’s beyond it?”

“The Turners’ farm. Even though we bought part of it a few years ago, they still have a lot of land left.”

“Ever think of buying more?”

“Sure. But I can’t see it happening. At least not in the near future. The orchard’s profits aren’t high enough.”

“If it’s only money stopping you, I can—”

“Cal.”

Raising his hands, Cal turned from the window and chuckled. “Okay, okay.”

Jim managed a small smile. “I know you mean well.” Breathing evenly now and redressed, he leaned back against the headboard. “Thanks for waking me. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“It’s no bother. I can stay for a while if you want.”

“No, no. I’m fine. Go back to bed.”

“Okay. Sleep tight.” Cal wanted to go to him and brush down the piece of hair that stood askew atop Jim’s head. But he walked away, closing the door behind him and returning to his own empty bed. This time, sleep didn’t come.