A Match of Wits (8 page)

Had he ever considered more with her?

“Zayne?”

Pushing aside his troubling thoughts, Zayne lifted his head. “I’m afraid I’m not the man for Agatha either, Mr. Blackheart. I’ve sworn off women for good. After the fiasco with Helena, I think bachelorhood is the only life for me.”

“But you
do
find Miss Watson beautiful, don’t you?” Mr. Blackheart asked, throwing Zayne’s own words back at him.

“I’ve already admitted as much. A man would have to be blind not to see how beautiful she is, what with those amazing blue eyes of hers and all that unruly black hair. Not to mention her form, which is . . .” Zayne stuttered to a stop when he realized Mr. Blackheart was watching him with clear speculation in his eyes. “But, that’s neither here nor there, since I’m not in the market for a lady.”

“You enjoy sparring with her.”

“No, I don’t. If you haven’t noticed, Agatha and I have been
arguing almost constantly since she blew up my mine—arguing, not sparring, and I certainly don’t enjoy it.”

“You smile when you think she’s not watching, especially after the two of you trade heated exchanges.”

Zayne rolled his eyes. “Since
you
don’t seem keen to pursue her, and I know
I’m
not, can you think of any other gentleman who might be interested?”

“I can’t think of any gentleman who
wouldn’t
be interested.”

The sour taste returned to his mouth, causing Zayne to pick up the glass of lemonade—the only drink Agatha seemed to approve of—from the small table beside him and take a gulp. Setting the glass aside, he frowned. “I suppose I could make a list of eligible men once we get back to New York.”

“You could indeed. But remember, Miss Watson has a mind of her own, and I doubt she’ll take kindly to us, or rather you, playing matchmaker. Besides, finding a gentleman to suit her will take time, something we don’t have, since we’re almost to the city, where I expect the threat will resume.”

“Is there any hope that the threat to her has diminished since you’ve been gone?”

“Probably not, given the escalating nature of the threats to her right before we left. I’ve tried to talk her into leaving the city after we deposit you back with your family, but she’s adamant about keeping an eye on you.”

“I’m perfectly capable of seeing after myself. I’ve been doing it for quite some time now.”

“Yes, and doing a remarkable job of it.”

Zayne pretended he hadn’t heard that sarcastic remark. “Agatha has absolutely no reason to feel responsible for me.”

“I agree, but she does, so . . . Hmm . . . perhaps we could use that to our advantage.”

“Meaning?”

“Miss Watson has a very caring heart underneath her annoying demeanor. If you were to assume the role of a true invalid, we could keep her by your bedside. That would allow me an opportunity to work on flushing out whoever wants her dead without worrying about her.”

“But I’ve been feeling better lately.”

“I’m not surprised, given that you’re no longer crawling around a mine and have been forced to give up whiskey, but . . .”

Whatever else Mr. Blackheart was about to say came to an abrupt end when the door burst open and Agatha, followed by Drusilla, breezed into the train car, both ladies looking remarkably smug, which was an immediate cause for concern.

“Ah, lovely,” Agatha exclaimed, walking up to stand beside his chair. “I was hoping I’d find you in here, Zayne.”

“Where else would I be?”

She waved his comment aside. “Drusilla and I were just in the kitchen car.”

“Learning to cook, are we?” Mr. Blackheart asked in a wary tone.

“Don’t be silly, I’ll never learn to cook, although Drusilla told me she is a proficient cook, which doesn’t surprise me in the least.” Agatha sent Drusilla a fond look and then returned her attention to Zayne, even as she brandished a sharp-looking pair of scissors in his direction. “Look what the chef gave me. They’re supposed to be used to cut up fish, but they’ll do in a pinch.”

“They’ll do what in a pinch?” Zayne asked slowly.

“Hack off that hair of yours, of course.”

“Well, I must be off,” Mr. Blackheart suddenly exclaimed, rising to his feet so quickly Zayne barely had a moment to blink. “Mrs. Swanson, would you care to join me in the dining car? I feel the most unusual urge for some refreshment.”

Drusilla caught Zayne’s gaze, then looked to Agatha, who was still waving the scissors. “You know, I do believe I’m a little hungry as well, Mr. Blackheart.” She hurried for the door, Mr. Blackheart a step behind her. The door slammed shut a moment later, and Zayne was left with only Agatha standing beside him, brandishing her scissors.

“You might as well put those down,” he said. “I’m not letting you anywhere near my hair. I well remember what you’ve done to me in the past.”

“I’ve never cut your hair, Zayne.”

“You made me shave my chest one time.”

“True, but only because that gown I needed you to wear was somewhat low-cut, and, well, you’d have looked silly with chest hair.” She took a step closer, and as she did so, a wonderful scent of lilacs tickled his nose. “Now then, be a good boy and let me get on with this. We can’t very well allow your mother to see you looking like a wild man.” She waved the scissors in front of his face. “There’s really no need to worry. I’m certain I’ll do a more than credible job.”

Zayne narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have any brothers, so how can you make that claim? Whose hair have you cut?”

“I’ve never cut a man’s hair before, but I did have the opportunity to sheer a sheep in Nebraska, and how much different can it be?”

“You know, Agatha, the truth of the matter is that my mother will be thrilled to simply have me returned back to New York. I don’t think there’s any need for you to touch my hair.”

“You also need to lose the beard.”

Zayne shuddered. “You’re not shaving me. Putting a razor in your hand would be almost as foolish as giving you a piece of dynamite.”

Agatha’s eyes turned chilly. “I don’t recall offering to shave you, and really, I would have thought that by now you’d be over the whole dynamite thing.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever recover from that. You do remember the troubling little fact that you destroyed my livelihood, don’t you?”

Agatha moved closer, the skirt of her gown brushing against his leg. He felt the strangest heat flash through him but consoled himself with the idea he was only getting nervous because scissors in Agatha’s hands could be construed as a weapon.

“Your family is one of the richest families in the country. Why, up until you had your accident, you were perfectly content to work by your father’s side, as well as Hamilton’s, growing your railroading business. I certainly didn’t destroy your only means of securing a living.”

“Since our railroad reached the West Coast a few years ago, there’s not that much more growing to do.”

A sharp rap on his head had him gritting his teeth.

“Stop being so surly. It’s unbecoming, and I know for a fact—given all the traveling I’ve done of late—that there’s still plenty of need for new railroad lines.”

“Maybe
you
should join my father and brother, then. I’m sure they’d love working with you every day.”

“Sarcasm is almost as unbecoming as surliness,” she said before he heard a snip and saw a long piece of matted hair plop to the ground.

“This is a bad idea,” he muttered.

“It’s not. You’re just being difficult, but . . . Good heavens.”

“Good heavens, what?”

Agatha moved closer. “The scissors are stuck.”

“I guess you’ll have to stop.”

“Nonsense, I can’t just leave them there. I’ll have to use the knife.”

Before Zayne could protest, Agatha pulled a shiny and lethal-looking knife out of her pocket and proceeded to saw off more of his hair. “This is so matted and dirty, it almost looks black instead of dark brown.”

“I probably should have sought out a barber sometime during the past several months, but there wasn’t much need to worry about my appearance up in the mine.”

Agatha stopped sawing, stepped away from him, and caught his eye. “I don’t think I’ve actually said this out loud to you yet, but I really am sorry I blew up your mine.”

He opened his mouth to argue but noticed the true sincerity in her eyes. Agatha was, and had always been, impulsive, annoying, and far too much trouble, but she really was a kind woman at heart, something he seemed to have forgotten.

“I know,” he finally said.

She grinned back at him. “That was hard for you, wasn’t it?”

He returned the grin. “Incredibly.”

“You’re considering forgiving me though, aren’t you?”

His grin faded. “I don’t know if I’d go that far, Agatha. You did lose me a fortune in gold.”

“I had nothing to do with Mary robbing you.”

“I’m not talking about the pittance I kept on my belt, but what I’d stored in the mine.”

“You stored your gold in that mine instead of in a bank?”

Not caring to discuss that subject again, since Mr. Blackheart had already made him feel slightly less than intelligent, Zayne dropped his gaze. “If you’re going to finish my hair before we reach New York, you’d better have at it.”

She stepped closer, the scent of her perfume tickling his
nose again. He wasn’t positive, but he thought he detected the slightest trace of violets mixed in with the lilacs.

He’d forgotten how she always smelled rather delicious.

A jolt of something disturbing slid down his back, and for a moment he thought it was a reaction to his troubling thoughts, until he realized Agatha had dumped half a pot of water over his head.

“Was that really necessary? I’m soaked to the skin.”

“You’ll dry by the time we reach New York, and I thought the water would help with the matting. I still can’t get the scissors out because the tangles are so thick the knife won’t go through that part.”

As Agatha struggled to remove the scissors, Zayne tried to ignore the warmth that was seeping into his skin from the closeness of her body. Deciding he needed something to distract him, he searched his mind for a safe topic of conversation.

“Did I mention to you that Matilda’s sleeping under the bed in here?”

A grunt was Agatha’s only reply before there was an ominous snap. She stumbled backward, righted herself, and smiled as she waved the newly freed scissors at him. “Got them, but I do think I took out a huge chunk of your hair in the process.” She reached out and ruffled his hair right before she began attacking it again. “Not to worry though. I’m sure I can blend it in so no one can tell. Now, what were you saying about Matilda?”

“Ah, well, she’s sleeping under my bed, but . . . let’s get back to my hair. I’m not going to be bald, am I?”

“You’d look very handsome bald, because you have such a strong face. And if you were missing a large chunk of hair—not that I’m saying that’s the case—well, it would just draw
more attention to your eyes. They’re a very nice shade of green, unusual even.” She let out what sounded remarkably like a giggle. “Did I ever tell you about the time I overheard some ladies sighing over how long your lashes are?”

Zayne frowned. Agatha never giggled, nor did she flirt, which is exactly what she seemed to be trying to do at the moment, which meant . . . His eyes widened. “I really do have a bald spot, don’t I?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s completely bald.” Agatha cut off another piece of his hair. “But baldness aside, I have something else I need to discuss with you, because Drusilla and I have been mulling over your situation.”

All thoughts of flirting immediately disappeared. “What situation?”

“The mess you’ve made of your life.”

“My life is hardly a mess.”

“I understand it’s easy for a person to embrace denial, but it’s time for you to stop that. You need a purpose, Zayne, and Drusilla and I have very kindly found one for you.”

“You’ve found me a purpose?”

“Indeed, and it’s a very noble one.”

He refused to groan out loud. “And . . . ?”

“Drusilla and I are going to help you track down that Willie person—you know, the man you bought the mine from—once we get settled and all.”

“And why exactly would we track Willie down?”

“So that you can return his mine to him.”

“What makes you so certain I’d be willing to turn over a lucrative mining venture to a man I legitimately purchased it from?”

For just a brief second, he felt Agatha stiffen, but then she started cutting his hair again, although she did so rather too
enthusiastically. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask that question.”

“It was a legitimate question, Agatha.”

“It’s too late. I’m not going to be able to help you,” she mumbled.

“For the millionth time, I don’t need you to save me.”

She completely ignored his statement. “The Zayne I used to know was a compassionate man. A man who wouldn’t have blinked at what I just suggested because it’s the right thing to do.”

“I don’t know many businessmen who’d willingly turn over a profitable venture simply because of a compassionate nature.”

Another handful of his hair fell to the ground. “You could at least try to find Willie and offer him some type of partnership with you.”

“We’ve been over this before, Agatha. I
purchased
the mine from him, sight unseen.”

“True, but since I blew it up, it’s going to take a lot of time and money to get it up and running again. If we could find Willie, maybe he’d be willing to go back to Colorado and get things moving. You told me he was responsible for making those tunnels. You’re in no shape to do it, so . . .”

As Agatha continued speaking, Zayne couldn’t help but conclude she had a very good idea. He had no intention of completely abandoning his mine, had only agreed to go back to New York because she’d been so demanding . . . and he’d wanted to see his family . . . and the snow would soon start falling in Colorado, if it hadn’t already. But . . . Willie had done a fine job setting up the tunnels, and if he could be found, he would be the perfect man for the job.

“I think you might be right.”