A Match of Wits

by Jen Turano

  To Agatha’s surprise, one corner of Zayne’s mouth tugged up. “Since you’ve suddenly taken to insulting me, Mr. Blackheart, don’t you think you should call me Zayne?”

  Mr. Blackheart nodded. “Fine. Zayne, then, but you’re still an idiot.”

  “And?” Zayne prompted.

  “And what? I believe calling you an idiot sums everything up nicely.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “You may call me Mr. Blackheart.”

  “You’re not going to give me your first name?”

  “Boys, enough,” Mrs. Swanson said, stepping in between them. “This is hardly the time to engage in such nonsense when there are more important matters to discuss. But, in the interest of retaining a small semblance of peace, we’ll continue to call Mr. Blackheart by his preferred Mr. Blackheart since he seems to have an aversion to his given name. I am, however, perfectly comfortable with everyone calling me Drusilla.”

  She sent Zayne a smile. “Now then, since that’s settled, on to those important matters. . . . What in the world possessed you to become involved with this venture given the harsh environment that currently surrounds us? Making your way out here every day can’t be good for that leg of yours.”

  “Forgive me, but I don’t really see where it’s any concern of yours what ventures I become involved with,” Zayne returned.

  Drusilla drew herself up. “I’m making it my concern because, again, I’m good friends with your sister, Arabella. You and I know she’ll be peppering me with questions once she discovers I’ve seen you, and I’m the type of lady who likes to be informed before I answer anything.”

  Zayne’s mouth suddenly went a little slack. “Good heavens, Drusilla, I must beg your pardon. You and I have been introduced before, and it was extremely ill-mannered of me not to immediately remember you. But what are you doing out here with Agatha? Shouldn’t you be with your husband, Edward?”

  What seemed to be anguish flickered through Drusilla’s eyes, but then she blinked and the anguish was gone. “Edward passed away almost two years ago. Arabella thought I needed a change of scenery, and when Miss Watson began to make plans to travel west, I decided to apply for the position of her chaperone—or paid companion, if you will, since she’s too old for a chaperone.”

  “That was brave of you.”

  Before Agatha could smack Zayne over the head, Drusilla laughed. “Agatha has certainly kept me busy and taken my mind off my loss, so for that, I’ll be forever grateful to her.”

  Zayne smiled but then sobered. “I’m sorry about Edward. He was a fine man.”

  “Yes, he was,” Drusilla agreed. “But, he had a dangerous . . . er . . . Well, no need to delve into that at the moment. You have a mining venture to explain.”

  Leaning heavily on his cane, Zayne released a sigh. “Since it’s becoming clear I won’t get any work done until I give at least a brief explanation, we might as well make ourselves comfortable.”

  He hobbled over to a pile of large boulders, took a seat on one, and waited for everyone to join him. Setting his cane aside, he began his story.

  “I ended up in Colorado about seven months ago. Stopped here to see if one of the natural hot springs I’d heard about would help my leg. It was of no help, so I made plans to leave, but an unexpected blizzard delayed my departure, and it was during this blizzard I met a man by the name of Willie Higgins.

  “He’d come out west to seek his fortune in order to support his family back in New York. We got to talking, and I discovered Willie had found next to nothing in his mine and was desperate to go home. He was a proud man and refused to accept charity from me, so in exchange for a ticket back east, he signed over this mountain.”

  Agatha frowned. “You got an entire mountain for the price of a railroad ticket?”

  “As I said,” Zayne said, “Willie was very clear regarding the fact he’d been completely unsuccessful finding anything of value in the mine he’d purchased.”

  Agatha lifted her chin. “It’s still a lot of land, and since Colorado Springs is growing at a rapid rate, I’d say poor Willie got swindled.”

  “If I told you I gave him a hundred dollars for good measure and signed the deed without ever seeing the land I was purchasing because, again, we were in the midst of a blizzard, would you feel better?”

  “No, because I saw that sack of yours filled with gold nuggets. And it didn’t escape my notice that you said what was in that sack was only some of what you’d discovered.”

  “I’m not going to apologize for uncovering gold Willie didn’t find, or for the fact that I’ve come to believe my mine is going to earn me a rather nice fortune sometime in the near future.”

  “But that’s not fair to poor Willie,” Agatha argued.

  “Life isn’t always fair.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  Zayne’s eyes began to glint. “Don’t I? Was it fair to me that I ended up a cripple just because I tried to save Helena?”

  “Well, no, but that was an accident.”

  “It was an accident that I just happened to find gold, which is rightfully mine, and—”

  “It might be rightfully yours,” Agatha interrupted, “but it’s hardly honorable for you to not at least consider Willie still has a legitimate stake in this mine.”

  “Willie isn’t here, Agatha, nor do I know where to look for him.”

  “You said he wanted to go back to New York, so it wouldn’t be that difficult to find him if you put the effort into a search.”

  “It would be difficult for me to search for him since I have no desire to return to New York.”

  “What I haven’t been able to figure out yet is how you’re able to search for gold,” Mr. Blackheart said before Agatha could argue her point further. “Have you hired a crew to help you blast and secure beams?”

  “Willie did a lot of blasting before he gave me the mine, and he created a remarkably stable tunnel system. I’ve only recently started using dynamite to uncover more of the gold veins I found.” Zayne struggled to his feet. “Speaking of gold, I would like to get to work. Fall is a tricky time out here, and from what I’ve been told, snow should have already arrived, since it’s late September. Once the snow hits, my mining efforts will be severely limited.”

  “Which is an excellent reason to consider traveling back to New York.” Agatha rose from the boulder and brushed dirt from her trousers. “You could stay in the city for the fall and winter, and then return here in the spring.”

  “I’m certainly not going to New York in the midst of the social season.”

  “You love the social season, what with all the parties and balls, and . . . danci . . .” Her voice trailed off when she noticed that Zayne’s face had darkened. She forced a smile and tried again. “Besides, since I’ll probably end up in the city sooner than later, I’m sure Mr. Blackheart would be only too happy to accept any assistance you might be willing to give him by escorting me to a few of those society events. It would be fun, just like old times.”

  “Mr. Blackheart would have no reason to appreciate any assistance from me, given that I’m less than a man these days and would only complicate his mission of keeping you alive.”

  “I think that’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve—”

  “And as for dancing, I think my leg speaks for itself.” With that, Zayne turned his back on her and began picking his way across the dirt, coming to a stop beside a large basket attached to cables.

  Not willing to be dismissed so easily, Agatha charged after him. “You’re not being reasonable, Zayne, and I . . .” She stumbled over a pile of dirt, but caught herself before she plunged to the ground by grabbing hold of the basket. Straightening, she looked it over. “This is an interesting contraption.”

  “Humph.”

  She ignored his less-than-charming remark. “Do you use this to get up to the mine, and if so, how does the contraption work, and how did you even come up with the idea for the basket gadget thing in the firs
t place?”

  Zayne began rubbing his head. “No offense, Agatha, but all of your questions are causing my head to throb harder than ever. What I really need right now is some peace and quiet, which means you need to stop talking, and I’d also enjoy some time completely alone.”

  She waved that piece of nonsense away with a flick of her wrist. “You loathe being alone, and I’m getting tired of your surly attitude.” She nodded to the basket. “What exactly is that?”

  “If I explain what this is, will you leave me in peace?”

  “Probably not, and besides, I’m in need of a good story. I’ll bet my readers would love hearing how you’ve overcome you’re, er . . .” The rest of her words stuck in her throat when Zayne’s eyes turned glacial.

  “You will not write a story with me as the featured invalid.”

  “I wasn’t going to portray you as an—”

  “I have to get to work.”

  “But you haven’t explained what that is yet,” she said, pointing to the contraption in front of her.

  “It’s a basket attached to a pulley.”

  “Well, clearly, but . . . how did you come up with the idea and why?”

  “I would think that’s obvious. Necessity is a great motivator for coming up with ideas. I tried to climb up to the mine once but it didn’t work out very well for me, hence the pulley system.”

  “It’s ingenious.”

  “No, it isn’t, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. You may sit down here and write to your heart’s content about pulleys, but don’t bother me.”

  “I’d be able to write a more fascinating account of your pulley system if you’d let me ride up the mountain with you. That way I’d be able to describe how it feels to hang over jutting rocks with only a cable saving me from certain death.”

  “Maybe acting wouldn’t be such a stretch for you after all, but tell me, do you really expect me, an invalid, to be able to pull not only myself but you as well up the mountain?”

  “I don’t really like it when you use that particular tone of voice with me.”

  “Then stop annoying me and I’ll stop using this tone.” With that, Zayne yanked on the door leading into the basket, stepped in, pulled the door shut, and began cranking a wheel, which caused the basket to slowly ascend up the steep slope.

  4

  Infuriating man,” Agatha grumbled as she watched Zayne make his way up the mountain without her.

  “He may be infuriating,” Drusilla said, coming to stand beside Agatha, “but I must say, even though he claims he’s an invalid, he looks to be in rather fine form to me.”

  Squinting against the glare of the sun, Agatha found she couldn’t disagree. Muscles strained against his shirt with every crank, causing her traitorous heart to beat a touch faster than was strictly necessary. It was unacceptable, this irritating reaction she had to the man, especially since he was being less than cooperative at the moment.

  Didn’t he remember that she hated being thwarted and that, when she was, she almost always resorted to something of a drastic nature?

  Did he really want to put himself smack in the midst of—

  “I find it somewhat distasteful, observing the two of you ogling the poor man.”

  Dragging her gaze away from Zayne and all his muscles, she felt her face heat when she turned and found Mr. Blackheart scowling back at her. Why he was scowling was beyond her. After all, she hadn’t been ogling him.

  “There’s no harm in ogling,” Drusilla proclaimed, sparing Agatha a response. “Why, a lady would have to be dead not to notice such an impressive display of muscles.”

  Mr. Blackheart turned his scowl on Drusilla. “Yes, well, Zayne’s muscles aside, we have more pressing matters to deal with at the moment.”

  “Oh?” Drusilla asked.

  “Indeed, which is why I’m going to follow Zayne and have a bit of a gentlemanly chat with him. The two of you will stay down here.”

  “Why do we have to stay down here?” Agatha demanded. “And why do you have to have a ‘gentlemanly chat’ with him? What’s wrong with having a normal chat, one where ladies are included?”

  “Must you always be so difficult?”

  “It’s part of my charm.”

  A vein began to throb on Mr. Blackheart’s forehead. “This is exactly why Zayne and I need to speak privately. Gentlemen occasionally need to distance themselves from ladies—especially when said ladies unintentionally hurt our pride.”

  “Surely you’re not implying that I injured Zayne’s pride, are you?”

  “I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you that you did.” He held up a hand when Agatha began to sputter. “You didn’t mean to, of course, but you brought attention to his weakness by suggesting he return to New York for the social season. He obviously can’t dance, and what were you thinking, suggesting he should assist me with keeping you alive? You’re a nightmare to guard, which Zayne knows full well, and he also knows he’d never be up for that daunting task given his bad leg.

  “While it may appear that Zayne is somewhat nonchalant about his injury, I assure you, he’s not. That’s why I’m going to go speak with him, man to man. And since neither you nor Drusilla are men, you’ll need to stay down here until I call for you.”

  “What if we have an emergency?”

  “I’m going to encourage you to avoid emergencies at all costs.” Sending her another one of his all-too-familiar glares, Mr. Blackheart turned and began climbing up the mountain.

  Drusilla released a huff. “Gentlemen are such peculiar creatures. I cannot believe Mr. Blackheart expects us to twiddle our thumbs down here while he goes off to soothe Zayne’s tender feelings. If you ask me, Zayne needs a kick in his rather nice behind, not coddling.”

  “I can’t argue with you there,” Agatha said as she moved to the back of the wagon. Pulling the picnic basket out, she set it on the ground. Plucking out two apples, she barely had a moment to straighten before Matilda was beside her, looking hopeful. Giving an apple to the little pig, she grinned as Matilda scampered back to her grassy spot and immediately began to chomp on her treat.

  “Interesting pet you’ve managed to acquire,” Drusilla said.

  “True, but I don’t think Mr. Blackheart is thrilled with my acquisition.”

  “I’m not sure Mr. Blackheart is capable of experiencing a thrilling emotion, but now is not the time to delve into his odd ways.” Drusilla lifted her chin. “We need to discuss Zayne. I couldn’t help but notice the animated conversation the two of you were sharing on the ride out here, which made me realize you’re probably up to something.”

  “I’m sure I should take offense at your reasoning, but annoyingly enough, you’re right,” Agatha said. She took a few minutes to explain everything Zayne had told her, finishing with, “So Helena left him right when he needed her the most.”

  “And you’re determined to sort him out.”

  “He’s my friend.”

  “Rumor had it back in New York that the two of you were more than friends.”

  “That’s exactly why one shouldn’t put much stock in rumors, Drusilla. Zayne and I have always been just friends.”

  “You spoke about him almost nonstop when we first started out on this adventure.”

  “Did I?”

  “Indeed. Non . . . stop.”

  A flash of heat swept over Agatha’s face. “Oh, very well, if you must know, I did, once upon a time, hold Zayne in a small bit of affection. But after he learned of that affection, he very nicely explained to me that he was beholden to Helena and that I mustn’t ever believe he’d abandon her to form a relationship with me.”

  “Helena doesn’t seem to be an issue anymore.”

  Agatha wrinkled her nose. “You’re supposed to be my companion, Drusilla, not a matchmaker. Besides, you’ve spent an entire year with me. Surely you’ve realized by now that I’m perfectly content being an independent lady. I enjoy the success I’ve achieved as a writer, and I’m not ready, no
r will I probably ever be, to give that independence up for a man.”

  “Zayne was raised by one of the most progressive ladies I’ve ever known,” Drusilla countered. “I would have to imagine Gloria Beckett was more than successful with teaching her son tolerance for independent ladies. I’m sure Zayne wouldn’t be bothered in the least if you continued on with your writing, if you were to form an attachment to him.”

  “Zayne’s a mess at the moment, and the last thing I need is more messiness in my life.”

  “He’s an enticing mess.”

  “Anyway, since I still consider myself his friend, I’ll do whatever I can to help him recover. However, much to my disgust, he’s already figured out what I’m up to, which means it’s going to be remarkably difficult to get him to cooperate.” She smiled at Drusilla. “I think I’m going to need your assistance formulating a plan.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the only way you’ll have the slightest chance of helping Zayne get better is if you somehow manage to convince him to go back to New York. He’s not going to agree to that, which means you’ll get it into your head to somehow drag him back there. Have you forgotten you’re not safe in the city?”

  “Have you forgotten I haven’t exactly been safe out here?”

  “True, but at least out here the danger is random, while in New York there’s a very specific and troubling threat waiting for you.”

  “Theodore’s certain to find some leads soon. Maybe he’s already run the culprit to ground and just hasn’t had a chance to send us a telegram.”

  “I received a telegram from Theodore a week ago. There are no new leads.”

  “Why would you receive a telegram from Theodore Wilder?”

  “Did I say I received the telegram? How silly of me, I meant Mr. Blackheart received a telegram, and . . .” Drusilla’s voice trailed off as she looked past Agatha’s shoulder. “Hmm . . . Now that’s interesting,” was all she said before she started rummaging through a satchel that was attached to her hip. She pulled out a pair of opera glasses and immediately began peering off into the distance.