Felicity's Fortune: Gamblers & Gunslingers, #2

By Kara O'Neal

Waxahachie, Texas, 1883

Felicity Capwell Archer had no idea she'd married a thief and a killer. And even though she's the one who turns him in, people still think she helped her former husband steal and is now hiding the money. To protect herself from the repercussions and attacks, she hires Butch Wilder. Gambler. Gunslinger. And a giant who hides a heart of gold.

Butch Wilder grew up on the streets of New Orleans, learning how to fight, how to gamble and how to use a Colt .45 with deadly precision. When Felicity begs him to protect her family, she's too damned pretty and too intriguing to turn down. Determined to avoid any emotional attachments and to keep it purely professional, Butch takes the job. But he finds himself sitting down to nice meals, walking her children to school and being part of a family for the first time.

 

Only by finding and returning the stolen loot can Felicity and her daughters ever truly be safe. Following clues she deciphers from her former husband's letters, Felicity and Butch travel to the outlaw-infested Hell's Half Acre. It's madness, but Butch will do anything to protect Felicity. Even if it means his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kara O'Neal
• Release date: Jul 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223022442

Kara O'Neal

Award-winning author, Kara O'Neal is a teacher and lives in Texas with her husband and three children. She writes stories with strong family ties, lots of romance and guaranteed happy endings! Visit her at www.karaoneal.com.

Book preview

Felicity’s Fortune

By

Kara O’Neal

––––––––

Gamblers & Gunslingers Series

FELICITY’S FORTUNE, 1st Edition

Copyright © 2023 Kara O’Neal

Published by Kara O’Neal

Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

Also by Kara O'Neal

Gamblers & Gunslingers

Katie's Gamble

Felicity's Fortune

Cora Lee's Wager

Olivia's Treasure

Joetta's Legacy

Everleigh's Game

Texas Brides of Pike's Run

Saving Sarah

Welcome Home

The Sheriff's Gift

The Cowboy's Charms

The Miller Brides

The Soldier's Love

Love's Promise

Love's Redemption

The Editor's Kisses

The Ranger's Vow

The Cowboy's Embrace

Destiny's Secrets

Mr. Pierce's Hero

The Christmas Bride

Maggie's Song

The Inventor's Heart

The Deputy's Damsel

An Unacceptable Wife

The Cowboy's Bride

The Princess's Knight

Sunshine's Welcome

Forever Home

Wildflowers of Texas

Miss Green Eyes (Coming Soon)

Watch for more at Kara O'Neal’s site.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Kara O'Neal

Felicity's Fortune (Gamblers & Gunslingers, #2)

For Rachel, Audrey, Emma, Kaitlyn and Abby | My baby girls.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

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Also By Kara O'Neal

About the Author

Waxahachie, Texas, 1883

Felicity Capwell Archer had no idea she'd married a thief and a killer. And even though she's the one who turns him in, people still think she helped her former husband steal and is now hiding the money. To protect herself from the repercussions and attacks, she hires Butch Wilder. Gambler. Gunslinger. And a giant who hides a heart of gold.

Butch Wilder grew up on the streets of New Orleans, learning how to fight, how to gamble and how to use a Colt .45 with deadly precision. When Felicity begs him to protect her family, she's too damned pretty and too intriguing to turn down. Determined to avoid any emotional attachments and to keep it purely professional, Butch takes the job. But he finds himself sitting down to nice meals, walking her children to school and being part of a family for the first time.

Only by finding and returning the stolen loot can Felicity and her daughters ever truly be safe. Following clues she deciphers from her former husband’s letters, Felicity and Butch travel to the outlaw-infested Hell's Half Acre. It's madness, but Butch will do anything to protect Felicity. Even if it means his life.

For Rachel, Audrey, Emma, Kaitlyn and Abby

My baby girls.

Chapter One

September, 1883

Waxahachie, Texas

The clock ticked. Each pulse a shot of noise in the still, quiet, Victorian home on West Main Street in Waxahachie, Texas. The autumn breeze blew through the open front windows, rustling the eyelet lace curtains. The linen flapped against the Queen Anne settee with its Scheurer fabric of pink ribbons and swags. Cherrywood tables gleamed in the golden sunlight. Books of various subjects lined the built-in shelving on either side of the white, plaster mantle.

Gas lamps sat atop tatting of the most delicate rayon thread. A silver tea service waited on a cart of mahogany. And a rug of rose and cream anchored the carefully appointed, well-polished parlor of the Archer home. A dwelling built no more than seven years ago. Built with promise. With hope. With love.

Or so Mrs. Felicity Capwell Archer had thought. She’d used her own money for each plank, each cornice and placket of gingerbread. The dwelling had been her gift to her husband and their eventual children, for their future. What better way to use the trust fund and inheritance she’d been granted? As she’d planned this home, she’d thought she’d been investing in her family. In her future. How wrong she’d been.

And now she waited. For it to end.

She listened for the turn of the brass knob on the gleaming oak door with its frosted glass insert.

The marble clock ticked like a death knell. But she did not flinch at its steady beat. She did not wince. No. She waited, perched on the chair outfitted in the same style as the settee.

She had her legs crossed at the ankles and her hands resting easily in her lap. She wore a plum tea dress made of muslin, the natural form flattering her woman’s figure. Her almond locks she’d swept into a chignon.

On the side table lay his telegram.

HOME MONDAY STOP MISS YOU STOP BOUGHT A NEW CARRIAGE STOP

A new carriage. Bile burned her throat. With a deep breath, she shoved the sick feeling away. She would not be his fool or his possession any longer.

Seven years of marriage would now be over. His lips would not touch hers again. His smile, which turned her stomach, would fade when he found what waited for him. Because while she sat, looking for his return, so did others. With badges. And guns.

A merry whistle sounded outside. Boots stepped along the stone pavers to the front door.

She twitched her lips into a slight smile of relish...and waited.

The knob turned, his whistling died out then, Felicity! Come greet your husband.

She stayed as she was. The motions of him removing his hat and gloves greeted her ears. The slap of leather hit the marble-topped hall tree. The swish of his cane sounded, then it clanged in the bucket. Felicity? he called again. His boots sounded in the hall, and after only five paces, he came abreast of the entrance to the parlor.

He drew up short when he saw her sitting in the room. His brown brows furrowed over the ice-blue eyes she’d once lost herself in. Darling? Why so quiet?

Hate bubbled inside her, and she held herself rigid. If she spoke, her plan would fall apart. Because if she said anything to him, it would be to damn him. And he would run.

He came closer to her, his tall, lanky frame belying what he was truly capable of.

Bruises. Pain.

His concerned expression meant nothing more than eventual humiliation and servitude.

So, she gave him no response.

Did you receive my telegram?

She just watched him. He needed to go on his knees before her. That was the plan.

He scowled. Answer me, darling. Where is my wife? I’m home and I expect your greeting.

Of course, he did.

A few more treads, and he stood over her. Are you cross with me? I realize I was gone longer this time, but you know my business takes me far. Trains don’t run everywhere.

No. No, they didn’t. And therefore, couldn’t be robbed at every mile. But...there were stages. And banks. And, God help him, charitable organizations. He apparently found those as easily as he’d hopped the Texas Central Railway.

He growled and hunkered down. "I don’t need your anger. I just got home from a two-week journey without my wife."

She heard the slight creak of a plank in the hall. But he didn’t. She refrained from smiling in anticipation.

I expect to be obeyed and treated to the comforts of home. He glared at her.

With him squatting before her, he couldn’t see the man with his silver badge sneak into the room. The Texas Ranger had his gun drawn.

"Now," her husband ordered with force.

She braced herself.

He lifted his arm, circled the back of her neck with a hand, and yanked.

But she resisted.

His eyes flashed with fury, but before he could move another muscle, the Ranger set the barrel of his Colt against the back of her husband’s head.

Her husband froze. And the arrested fear on his face made her curl her lips into a smile of relish.

The Ranger pulled the hammer back.

Welcome home, Pierce, she said in sweet revenge. She watched realization come over his face, then felt hate seethe off of him in waves.

Get your hand off her, the tall, capable Ranger Larson growled.

Slowly, Pierce did as instructed, and all the while, his eyes remained trained on her. Cold. Furious.

The pocket doors leading to the dining room slid open, and three more members of Ranger Larson’s company emerged with guns drawn.

Stand up. Ranger Larson withdrew handcuffs from his denim pocket.

Fury and loathing glinted in her husband’s eyes, but he followed orders. The metal manacles were latched around his wrists.

And now came the part the Rangers had promised she could have. She pushed to her feet, never taking her gaze from her husband’s. You are under arrest for fifteen counts of murder and thirty-three counts of robbery. Our marriage is not lawful, as you lied during our vows. It will be annulled this week.

He snarled and lunged for her, but Ranger Larson had a good hold on him.

She lifted her chin. "Goodbye, Pierce. Or is it ‘Dodger-Boy Slim’?"

He struggled against Ranger Larson, but the man had him by a good thirty pounds. Pierce roared in anger as his gaze shot daggers at her. "You think a jail can hold me, huh? It took them eight years to even get to me, and you see there are four of them."

Let’s go, Ranger Larson commanded, and he dragged a fighting and spitting Pierce out of her parlor.

You wait, Felicity! Pierce vowed. You’ll see me again!

The pair disappeared into the hall.

Rangers Olson, Baines and McClintock followed, each nodding at her in silent admiration.

Her snarling husband could be heard through the open window as he growled and spat, still trying to break free from his captor, she was sure.

Dodger-Boy Slim had plagued Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico and Louisiana for eight years. He was a notorious robber, who killed anyone who got in his way. But for her, he’d been a husband and the father of their two daughters, Isla, six, and Esme, five. He’d said he was employed by Burke and Williams, an investment firm. He’d claimed he had to travel all over the south, visiting banks and other financial institutions to garner business.

But Burke and Williams didn’t exist, though he’d had cards. She’d been fooled, and in more ways than one. Because while he’d been a romantic during their courtship, he’d not been so as a husband.

Being married to him had meant pain and humiliation. Possession and obsession. He’d slithered along her body like a snake. He’d demanded particular treatment. If it hadn’t been given, he’d supplied beatings.

Whenever his supposed business had taken him away, she had breathed more easily and had prayed he’d stay gone longer each time. Then, she’d noticed his travels had coincided consistently with Dodger-Boy Slim’s. Each move the robber had made had been detailed in the Waxahachie papers.

And she’d also found it curious that no bank, stage or train had been attacked in Waxahachie. The town was wealthy, as it led northern Texas in cotton production and commerce. She’d begun to scour the papers for Dodger’s description, and even though he’d always worn a bandana over his face, his lanky form had been listed in each article.

After eight months of researching, she’d gone to the sheriff, who’d contacted the Rangers. She’d met with the lawmen twice, going over everything that matched up with Dodger’s attacks.

And then a plan had been hatched.

She walked to the window, but the men had gone. Were the Rangers dragging him through town? She hoped so.

Everyone needed to learn who her husband was. And then...well...she would see how the town would receive her and her daughters.

But she was not leaving Waxahachie as her brother had demanded she do. This was her home. This beautiful Victorian where her children had been born, that she’d planned from the first stair to the last finial. She would build her life. She would no longer be pushed around, controlled or doubted. After letting out a cleansing breath, she spun on a heel and went to fetch her girls from where they were safely tucked away at the home of a friend.

BUTCH WILDER TORE OFF his suit coat while he stood in the back of the Waxahachie courtroom on a too hot day. Ladies plied their fans in the packed chamber, as attorneys for the state and defense made their closing arguments.

As he listened, Butch tugged at the celluloid collar, wishing he hadn’t donned the get-up. He’d never attended a trial before, but the legend of Felicity Capwell Archer had been too good to resist. So, he’d purchased the constricting duds, having to have them specially made to fit his six-foot-six, two hundred- and forty-five-pound frame.

It was a Monday afternoon, two weeks after Dodger-Boy Slim’s arrest. The entire episode had been told in the papers, and Felicity Archer had been lifted to infamy. And not necessarily in a good way.

She was hated, doubted, called a liar, but also revered. It depended on who one talked to. Some believed she’d been a part of her husband’s crimes. Some claimed she knew where he’d hidden all the money. Others had decided she’d known nothing.

Butch had had to catch a glimpse of her, so he’d followed the rest of the town and had attended the trial of Pierce Archer. The lanky man didn’t look like much. Butch could snap him in two with his bare hands. How Archer had managed to snag a woman like Felicity Capwell escaped Butch, but then who was he to know what a lady might want.

Himself, he preferred women who spent their lives in saloons in any capacity. Ladies weren’t for Butch. But he did like to look.

And Mrs. Archer hadn’t disappointed him. She was a delicate beauty. Almond hair, a heart-shaped face, full lips and dark lashes that fluttered over expressive blue eyes.

Each day she’d appeared like a graceful queen, befitting the Victorian palace she lived in on West Main. She wore fine dresses and kept her back straight and her chin up. Butch enjoyed watching her.

Did she know where all the money was?

Had she participated in her husband’s robberies?

Had she turned him in to keep the wealth for herself?

The mystery surrounding her made Butch’s notice remained fixed on her. The jury intermittently watched her too, as if she were on trial with her husband. Or was Archer now her former husband? Butch had heard something about an annulment, but he didn’t know how those things worked.

The attorney for the state presented a rousing closing argument. The evidence against Archer was damning. Though the law hadn’t been able to find the money Archer had stolen, victims of his robberies had testified that they recognized his voice and figure.

But Archer had maintained his innocence and had professed great love for his wife and daughters when he’d been on the witness stand. Butch had watched Mrs. Archer while her former husband had spoken. Though Butch had been ten rows away from her, and all he’d been able to see was the back of her head, he’d detected an inner tremble from her.

She was something, Butch thought. If she had been her husband’s partner, he was impressed by her double-cross. However, if she was, in fact, innocent, and had thought her husband a worthy gentleman, the strength she’d needed to turn him in astounded Butch, as well. Very few women of his acquaintance would have destroyed their lives in order to do the right thing.

In fact, she had to be innocent because she’d turned him in. In his experience, liars and cheats took the path of least resistance. And ladies also liked to hide their shame.

A slight smile lifted the corners of his lips as he watched Mrs. Archer, or perhaps it was Miss Capwell now, remain firmly and determinedly seated in the first row behind the state attorney. Butch would be disappointed when this was over, and he wouldn’t have a reason to see her each day.

Reggie Biggs nudged his shoulder. Wanna eat after this?

Butch nodded without taking his eyes off the lady. He and Reggie worked at the quarry, busting rocks for use in buildings and other structures. In the evenings they patronized saloons and spent time at poker tables.

Reggie was a good one and a half feet shorter than Butch, and he didn’t get as much done at the quarry, but every man could be put to work.

Of course, since the trial had started last Thursday, not much work was getting done anywhere, as most people wanted to see the show. Those who hadn’t been able to get inside had their noses and ears pressed to the windowpanes lining either side of the room.

Butch had had a good view every day, as everyone got out of his way. Reggie had followed in Butch’s wake, which had afforded him a prime spot, also.

When the defense finally finished their closing argument with a flourish, the judge dismissed the jury. And people began to rumble, murmur and squirm. But no one left their seat for the outside breeze. The verdict might be delivered quickly, and people didn’t want to miss it.

Butch sure as hell didn’t want to. This was the best entertainment he’d had since leaving his last job at Lyon House. He’d quit the opulent gambling hell and brothel, not wanting to provide protection to notorious gambler, Johnny McCord, any longer.

Fire flared in Butch’s gut at the thought of his former employer. The evil bastard.

Butch had had enough of the greedy son-of-a-bitch. And after his friend, Rowdy, had gotten hitched, Butch hadn’t wanted to carry out McCord’s orders on his own.

Butch was getting damned tired of the vile side of life. He’d been around it since birth. He harbored his own shameful choices over which he’d had absolute control, and they’d stay with him forever, but he was done repeating them. No more would he supply beatings for people who owed money. No more would he participate in showdowns. Hopefully.

He could clear leather. Not as fast as some, but fast enough. And he’d had his share of duels. But he hoped that if he faded into some semblance of staid normalcy, people would forget him.

He still preferred the rowdier set, though. No parlors, Sunday services or dinners around tables for him. That was a bit too much.

But definitely no more wreaking havoc and inciting terror. He was done being feared.

It’s damned hot, Reggie groused. I need a cooling off. Might go swimming later.

Butch was sweating, too. Bet Molly’s got an excursion planned.

Reggie grinned. Skinny dipping with the gals sounds even better.

It did. After the guilty verdict was delivered, Butch intended to take a dip in the creek that flowed behind The Pecking Hen. While he imagined plunging into the water, he watched the state attorney turn around and speak to Miss Capwell. The balding man had a confident expression on his face.

As well he should. There was no way in hell that Archer was going to get off. In fact, Butch expected the sentence to end in a hanging. Fifteen murders. Two women figured into that count. Hell.

Butch had killed people. His first had been luck. And self-defense. The remaining eight had all been men who either had accused Butch of cheating in a poker game or had challenged him because they had hoped to be the man who killed Butch Wilder.

Butch was a killer. Not much better than Archer. But Butch hadn’t had much choice when he was young. He’d had to take care of himself, which had meant learning how to steal, how to outwit the law, how to gamble, and how to shoot. Were there people who didn’t know how evil this world could be? If so, how could that possibly happen?

He shook his head in disbelief and leaned his back against the wood paneling of the wall behind him. The collar he wore dug into his neck. He growled and ripped the thing off, including the tie.

Why’d you buy that get-up if you hate it so much? Reggie asked. He wore his cotton work shirt, suspenders and trousers.

Didn’t want to get tossed out by the judge for not looking right. Butch shoved the collar and tie into his pants pocket.

Reggie grunted and crossed his arms over his chest while he shifted from foot to foot. I could’ve told you the judge would have paid you no mind.

Well, it was too late now. And if he looked ridiculous, no one would say so to his face. Especially since his fists were big and his punches even more so.

They only had to wait for another ten minutes before the jury returned. People buzzed and shifted, then held their breath as the judge asked Archer to stand. All heads turned in the criminal’s direction.

But Butch watched Miss Capwell. Who didn’t angle toward her former husband. He shoved his hands in his pockets as interest poured through him. She was a mystery he wouldn’t mind unraveling.

With a slight smile, he flicked his gaze to the foreman of the jury, who stood with a paper in hand. We find Pierce Archer guilty on all counts of murder and theft.

The courtroom erupted into cheers.

Archer spouted foul curses and tried to leap over the table. Deputies stopped him, but he kept struggling while the judge banged his gavel like a blacksmith did his cross-peen hammer.

Order! Order in here! the judge roared like a lion, grabbing the needed attention.

The deputies slammed Archer back into his chair and held him there.

Now, the judge continued, still standing, y’all keep your heads and your seats, or I’ll fine every last one of you.

The room went silent. People weren’t even shuffling. Butch let out a low chuckle.

The judge exhaled, then declared, Pierce Archer, you’ve been found guilty of fifteen counts of first-degree murder and thirty-three counts of robbery. The court sentences you to hang until you’re dead.

Damn you! Archer cried. Damn you to hell!

The law fought with him, pushing him to stand as they worked to get him back to his cell. Archer battled and struggled, churning against the men who held him, and just before being shoved through the door near the judge’s bench, his steel-eyed stare turned to his former wife. "I will get what belongs to me!"

Gasps flew and shouts resounded, while some turned accusing looks toward her. Butch narrowed his eyes.

Did she have the money?

He twitched his lips and hoped she could shoot and hit her target.

Chapter Two

M ama! Mama!

Felicity dropped the wet dish rag in the tub and raced to the screened-in back porch. She’d propped the kitchen exit open to let the breeze in. She pushed the porch door open, and it screeched in protest. As she made it to the top step, Isla came running around the corner, her boots slapping on the stone pavers set into the lawn.

Fear twisted her sweet face, and her brown braids bounced against her white pinafore. Mama! she cried once more. They hit Josie!

What? Felicity stumbled down to the ground then grabbed a panting Isla by her upper arms. Where is she?

She’s coming. She told me to run on ahead.

As Felicity drew breath to inquire more, the woman in question limped around the corner with Esme’s hand in hers. Josie! Felicity rasped, concern and fear spiking inside her. She hurried to her friend’s side. What happened?

Josie gave her a wobbly smile, her dark skin crinkling around a sympathetic gaze. I didn’t see him, but someone hurled rocks at me. She plucked at her brown skirt. The first one snagged and tore a hole. The second got me in the shin.

Anger barreled through Felicity, but before she could ask for more clarification, she turned her attention to Esme. Are you all right?

Esme’s bottom lip