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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.

 

     
1942
     
    “I’m beginning to think they’re out of boats.”
    Jim kept his gaze forward and whispered, “What?”
    As they marched on in close order drill in the gray afternoon, backs ramrod straight, legs striding in unison to the DI’s cadence, Cal didn’t turn his head either. “The only reason they could possibly have for marching us around this much is that we’re walking to Japan.”
    Lips twitching, Jim fought a smile. “Right through the ocean, huh?”
    “Yep. This rain is just a warm-up for the real thing.”
    “Plaatooon, halt!” Tyrell bellowed.
    The men staggered to a stop, their rifles clattering together. Jim blinked the rain out of his eyes and waited to find out why Tyrell had stopped them. It could be safely assumed that the recruits had done something wrong. As always.
    From the corner of his eye, he could see Tyrell slowly stride down the column of men, eyes sharp like a predator stalking its prey. Jim prayed he would pass Cal by just this once and pick on one of the other recruits. Not that Jim wished them any harm, but he hadn’t gotten to know them. Everyone knew that once their six weeks of training was through, their platoon would be scattered throughout the Corps. No sense in getting attached.
    But it was different with Cal. As much as Jim wanted the time to go quickly so he could officially be a Marine—and not stuck in this purgatory—he dreaded the day he would no longer have Cal at his side to raise a sardonic eyebrow or give him a hand, strong and sure, when he struggled at the top of the climbing wall during PT.
    “Forrrward march!”
    As they set out again, it happened so quickly that Jim wasn’t sure if Tyrell tripped him or if Cal had unluckily stumbled. Jim could only catch the edge of Cal’s rain poncho for a moment before Cal sprawled forward in the mud, crashing into the man in front of him, who staggered but remained upright.
    “Plaatooon, halt!”
    Shouldering his rifle, Jim sank to his knees beside Cal, who sputtered, wiping mud from his face as he glared up at Tyrell looming over them.
    Tyrell narrowed his gaze on Jim. “Recruit! On your feet!”
    The words were out before Jim could stop them. “He could be hurt, sir.”
    Jim had grasped Cal’s shoulder, but Cal shook him off. “I’m fine.” He hissed under his breath as he moved to his feet, “Get up!”
    Clambering up as well, Jim stood at attention once more, eyes on the helmet of the man in front of him. They waited with bated breath for Tyrell’s next move. The freezing rain pelted down, and all else was silent. Jim tensed from head to toe, wondering