A Match of Wits by Jen Turano Read Free Book Online Page A

York.”
    “Why not?”
    Ignoring her question, Zayne turned the wagon off the dirt road and onto a path so rutted it made speech next to impossible.
    “Our discussion is not over,” she yelled through teeth that were clinking together with every rut, trying to be heard over Matilda’s sudden squeals of terror. She tightened her grip on the seat, and just when she felt she couldn’t hang on for another second, Zayne pulled on the reins and the mules stopped. She heard Mr. Blackheart’s wagon rumbling up behind them and turned to watch as her bodyguard and companion pulled up beside them. Mrs. Swanson was sitting stiff as a poker on the wagon seat, not a single hair out of place and looking completely composed.
    “That was enjoyable,” Mrs. Swanson exclaimed, stepping lightly to the ground before she strolled over mounds of dirt, stopping beside Agatha. “You’re looking a little peaked, dear, and . . . annoyed.”
    Taking Mrs. Swanson’s offered hand, Agatha stepped from the wagon on shaky legs. “I’m looking peaked because I thought I was about to come to a rapid end due to Zayne’sabysmal driving skills. And I’m annoyed because he had the audacity to suggest I give up my writing and he refuses to consider helping Mr. Blackheart protect me.”
    “You’re being overly dramatic,” Zayne said as he accepted Mr. Blackheart’s assistance from the wagon, although he seemed to do so rather reluctantly. He wobbled for a moment as he grabbed a cane from under his seat and steadied himself. “It was due to my exceptional driving skills that we were able to make it up here alive.”
    Mr. Blackheart’s brow furrowed. “Forgive me, but I think you’re both being overly dramatic. We have mules pulling the wagons, not stallions, so in actuality, our lives were never in danger given the plodding nature of the beasts.”
    “It didn’t feel like plodding to me,” Agatha retorted before Matilda’s whimpers caught her attention. “And it evidently didn’t feel like plodding to poor Matilda.” Hurrying to the back of the wagon, she snagged the pig’s leash and gave it a tug, but Matilda wouldn’t budge. “Come on, darling, it’s time to get you out of there.”
    Matilda let out another whimper and staunchly refused to move.
    “How about if I promise that we won’t ride back with nasty old Zayne, but with Mr. Blackheart? He won’t try to kill us.”
    “I wouldn’t be so certain about that,” Mr. Blackheart muttered, brushing Agatha aside as he climbed into the wagon, plucked Matilda up in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all, jumped out, and placed the pig in a pile of dirt.
    Matilda squealed, scurried out of the dirt as fast as her stumpy legs would carry her, and didn’t stop until she found a miniscule patch of grass. She plopped down, wiggled for a moment, and closed her eyes.
    “Hmm . . . imagine that, she doesn’t care for dirt, whichcertainly explains why she doesn’t like farms,” Agatha began. “But I—”
    “Matilda’s preferences aside,” Mr. Blackheart interrupted, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist we take our immediate leave. This place, while certainly charming with all its loose rocks and wild animals probably lurking just out of sight, is a certain recipe for disaster, especially for someone like you, Miss Watson.”
    Not giving her an opportunity to refute that incredibly insulting statement, he gestured up the mountain to where jutting timbers marked the entrance of the mine. “I hope you won’t take offense at this, Mr. Beckett, but you are, without a shadow of a doubt, an idiot.”
    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