Without thinking, he leaned into Kane’s caress. God, what he wouldn’t give to have a taste of the man’s lips. To suck and tease the soft flesh until all they could feel, all they could breathe, was each other. Even though he had always found men attractive, Heath had never sampled the forbidden fruit.
Heath forgot himself and took a step with his right leg without the use of his cane. The leg gave way, causing him to tumble into Kane. It took them both by surprise, and they fell to the floor. That was twice in one day that he’d made a fool of himself. It was becoming a habit. Kane laughed.
What was so amusing? Was it funny that he had stumbled? Heath pushed himself off Kane, grabbing his cane for support. How dare the man find amusement in his humiliation.
“You think it is funny that I stumbled? That the cripple lost his footing?”
“Christ, must you go back to that every time?”
“To what?”
“To your leg. How you curse and moan about the damned thing.” Kane shook his head. “I swear, at times, I think you use your injury to avoid other subjects.”
Heath could guess what he meant, and maybe he was right.
Kane’s expression sobered. “I did not laugh because you fell. I laughed because...” He sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”
It mattered to Heath, who was suddenly ashamed of his outburst. It had been a long day, and his nerves were strung tighter than the strings of a bow. “My apologies. I should not have lashed out.”
“It has been a long day. No doubt you are tired.”
“No doubt.”
“Good night, Heath.”
“Good night.”
Kane was the first to leave. Heath waited a few minutes before going to his room. As he ascended the stairs, he rubbed his chest. There was that fluttering again, but he couldn’t rub it away. Something told him there was only one answer to what pained him, but Heath worried once he got a taste of the cure, he may become addicted.
* * *
The next two days passed quietly. Both men acted like nothing had occurred in the study or the brewery. Heath worked diligently on his studies. Kane had added Latin to his list of courses, saying it was important since many documents and words were Latin based and it would widen Heath’s vocabulary.
Between lessons, Heath visited the farmers. It was spring, so the farms were bustling with calves, piglets, and lambs in the barnyards. The tenants worked the fields from sunup until sundown. Heath was most relaxed when he was in the fields. This was what he knew, where he felt useful. He spent one entire afternoon ploughing a wheat field. It was hot, dirty work, but he relished the freedom that it afforded him. Plus, he could use the horse-drawn plough so he didn’t have to worry about his leg. It also went a long way to gaining the respect of his tenants, who appreciated a landlord who would get his hands dirty.
Mainly, Heath figured it would keep him away from Kane, but alas, the man offered to help. But sensing Heath needed space, Kane worked in the pasture.
At one point, Heath paused in his work to watch the men. Kane had his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, the collar of his shirt unbuttoned to show a glimpse of hair on his chest. Sweat rolled off Kane’s brow and had plastered his shirt to his body, outlining his burly physique. He didn’t seem to mind. Kane joked and smiled as he worked side by side with the farmers, joining in on what conversation they were having. That curious sensation tingled in Heath’s chest again. He almost rubbed it, but caught himself before he did so.
On the third day, they were in the study, going over fractions, which were like another language entirely for Heath, when Jenkins entered.
“Pardon, sir, but there is a gentleman calling, a Mr. Allan Hayes.”
“Send him in.” Heath looked at Kane. “That was quicker than I thought.”
“He must be interested in the brewery.”
They waited until a middle-aged man entered. His hair line was receding, and what hair that was left was askew from him removing his hat. He was lean, but even through his jacket, Heath could tell the man had a lifetime of laborious work.
“Mr. Hayes,” Heath said, “I’m Heath Foster. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” He turned to Kane. “You must be John’s son. You’re the spitting image of your father.”
Kane smiled. “Thank you, sir. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“I came down as soon as I got your letter. I’m intrigued. You want to start a brewery?” The question was directed at Heath.
“Yes. We have the building and machinery, but don’t know where to begin. Would you like to see it?”