Everleigh's Game: Gamblers & Gunslingers, #6

By Kara O'Neal

Houston, Texas, 1899

Everleigh Camden has upset her mother. She has chosen a profession over marriage. But Everleigh intends to get hitched someday. She just wants some experiences before she settles down, which includes being the secretary to an attorney, and using her winnings from nightly poker games to form the anonymous, charitable persona, "Bets Gamble".

 

However, when a new partner joins the law office, he brings his unwelcome ideas and shocking orders to help him catch the Shooter Creek Bandits.

Wade Bennett, sour on marriage and orderly to a fault, moves to Houston with the intent of catching the gang who murdered his brother. Everleigh Camden's investigative abilities are exactly what he needs to help his quest. He does not need, however, to contend with the alarming attraction he feels toward her. Nor does he have time to refine the sass and vinegar she frequently exudes.

 

Everleigh's charms soothe the rips in Wade's heart, and as they conduct their search, it becomes impossible to ignore his feelings. But villains abduct Everleigh and force her into the game of her life, possibly causing Wade to lose everything he holds dear.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kara O'Neal
• Release date: Jul 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223418368

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

Houston, Texas, 1899

Everleigh Camden has upset her mother. She has chosen a profession over marriage. But Everleigh intends to get hitched someday. She just wants some experiences before she settles down, which includes being the secretary to an attorney, and using her winnings from nightly poker games to form the anonymous, charitable persona, Bets Gamble.

However, when a new partner joins the law office, he brings his unwelcome ideas and shocking orders to help him catch the Shooter Creek Bandits.

Wade Bennett, sour on marriage and orderly to a fault, moves to Houston with the intent of catching the gang who murdered his brother. Everleigh Camden’s investigative abilities are exactly what he needs to help his quest. He does not need, however, to contend with the alarming attraction he feels toward her. Nor does he have time to refine the sass and vinegar she frequently exudes.

Everleigh’s charms soothe the rips in Wade’s heart, and as they conduct their search, it becomes impossible to ignore his feelings. But villains abduct Everleigh and force her into the game of her life, possibly causing Wade to lose everything he holds dear.

This one’s for Amanda. A toast to all her sass

and rule-breaking ways.

Chapter One

Houston, Texas

March, 1898

Everleigh Camden waited patiently, outwardly ignoring the sweat trickling down her opponent’s temples. But inwardly, she wondered why he wouldn’t remove his suit coat. Every other man had.

The opulent salon in the back of the Houston Hotel didn’t have any windows, and the evening breeze couldn’t be enjoyed. Oak paneled walls supported brass sconces and enclosed luxurious leather furniture, four poker tables, and a well-stocked bar. It was meant to be a hideaway.

And, usually, for men only.

But Mr. Roberts, the hotel manager, adored Everleigh and, since she could play Stud and Draw as well as any fellow, he’d allowed her entrance for the last three years. She was, also, a resident of the hotel.

She’d grown used to the habits of men, enjoyed the friendships she’d made, and kept their gambling a secret. Perhaps her current opponent didn’t understand that Everleigh was no gossip. Or, more likely, he wasn’t used to losing to a woman. Still, he should at least try to make himself comfortable.

Keeping her impatience expertly tamped down, Everleigh watched her challenger stare hard at his cards. As she fiddled with a brown lock of hair that had escaped from her bun, she bit back a smile, knowing the man was trying to will himself a better hand with his mind. When would other players learn that the game was about lying, not luck?

Call, he finally answered. He tossed in the right amount of chips to equal the raise she’d given him.

Mr. Wells, who sat to Everleigh’s right, grunted. His broad frame took up a lot of space. Guess you’re serious tonight, Gruening. I’m glad I folded, because I’m thinking she’s got an ace-high hand.

Not bad, Everleigh thought. But Mr. Wells was actually a decent player, so she wasn’t surprised he’d come close to guessing what she held.

Lay down your cards, the dealer, Joshua Hannigan, said.

Both did as ordered, and Gruening hissed in defeat when he saw four aces on her side of the table.

Wells tapped the table with a light fist. Knew it. He nudged Everleigh with his bulky shoulder and drawled, I’m learnin’ your signs, girl.

She just smiled as she raked the chips toward her.

"If you are learning them, Mr. Pollard interjected, pass along your knowledge, please. He let out a long, slow breath as the dealer began to shuffle the deck for the next hand. Mr. Pollard took a sip of his drink, then said, I need to stop coming here. I lose more than I win." He rolled his thin shoulders, seeming to try to ease the tension inside him.

After taking a long draw on his cigar, Mr. Orme commented, This isn’t about winning. His subtle French accent made anything he said divine. It’s about finding ways to stay away from the wife. Slowly, he exhaled a stream of smoke.

Everleigh listened to the men’s conversation, having heard similar things over the years. Which was why, at twenty-four, she was still unwed. Not that she didn’t want to be in love, but she’d wanted to experience different things. And, quite frankly, she’d known most of the men in her peer group for years, and she’d not developed feelings for any of them.

But she wasn’t despairing. She had an interesting job with an attorney, helping him plan his cases and arguments for court. And her nights were her own. She enjoyed a carefree social life, and she wasn’t about to give it up. Despite her parents’ very stalwart hopes.

She loved her parents dearly, but they wanted her pinned down, and she couldn’t handle that yet. Besides, if she had been married, she wouldn’t be able to sit across the table from Albert Gruening, a man who owned a lot of land and rented it to farmers. He was looking for more acreage and was going after a gentleman who’d been in the office three days ago.

A sweet and lowly farmer, Cal Withers, worked one hundred and twenty acres east of town. He was married and had seven children. He worked, day in and day out, to give his family a good life, but he struggled to pay what he owed the bank. And now, Gruening was coming for his note.

Mr. Withers had, in desperation, come to Everleigh’s employer, Mr. Paul Abbott, an attorney with almost thirty years of experience to his credit, to ask for a miracle. How could he keep Gruening, a man known for raising the rent unnecessarily, from buying his loan from the bank?

Sadly, Mr. Abbott had told him there was nothing he could do. It had broken Everleigh’s heart to watch Mr. Withers leave in defeat. His overalls had covered a threadbare shirt, and the straps had appeared to be too much for his shoulders as he’d walked out of the office.

When Everleigh had seen Mr. Gruening walk through the door this evening, inspiration had struck. She was going to take as much as she could from him, make him think he could beat her and force him to wager more than he’d planned.

So far, it was working.

As cards were dealt for the next hand, she arranged her ammunition and considered her next move. She would bet lightly at first, she decided, then come out strong after she traded in for new cards. Evaluating her opponent further, she decided she would only trade for one. The strategy was perfect for the player who believed in the luck of the draw. Which Gruening did.

The first round of bets were made, then all traded in for new cards. Wanting to agitate Gruening even more, she made sure to let her lips quirk up in a slight but quick smile.

Orme opened the betting with a fairly safe wager, Pollard called, then it went to Gruening, who met the pot and raised.

Perfect!

Wells called.

Everleigh called and raised.

While Wells grumbled, Orme chuckled. You’re unafraid, Miss Camden.

Everleigh just smiled and shrugged.

Orme sighed and folded.

Pollard cursed and did the same.

It came to Gruening, and again, sweat trickled down his cheeks.

She couldn’t blame him for being nervous. He’d already had to cash in for more chips a half hour ago.

With a curse, he met Everleigh’s bet then raised again.

Inwardly, she squealed with glee.

Wells shook his head and said, I fold. He snapped his fingers at the bartender, then held up his glass, indicating he wanted more.

Without a tremble or any hesitation, Everleigh met Gruening and raised again.

Orme whistled, while Wells snickered as he handed his glass to the bartender, who’d walked over to the table.

Gruening stared at Everleigh, his eyes wide with indecision.

You know, Orme said, setting an elbow on the table, this is quite suspenseful for a Thursday evening, but this is why I come here instead of going home.

Everleigh appreciated Orme’s lackadaisical attitude, simply because it was helping her cause. The easier he appeared, the more agitated Gruening became. But she was betting he would fold. He was too nervous, probably wondering why she’d only needed one card, thinking about how he’d lost the last hand, how he’d had to purchase another round of chips already.

Yes. He was going to fold.

With a curse, Gruening did as she thought and tossed his cards into the middle of the table. Fold.

Whooee, Wells said, "mighty rich, lady and gents. This is a little much for a Thursday evening."

As Everleigh pulled her winnings to her side of the table, she noticed that none of them stood to go. Thank goodness, because she needed a couple more hours to bleed Gruening dry.

Orme, Pollard, and Wells fell into conversation about the building going on at the ship channel, and how the endeavor would increase commerce considerably.

Gruening didn’t join in and instead pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his temples and partially bald head.

Everleigh stacked her chips, hoping this worked, hoping what she was going to do helped the farmer and his family. Discreetly, she studied Gruening’s pile and calculated how many more hands she would need to beat him.

Play commenced and in the next hour, she’d forced Gruening to push in all his chips. She defeated him with a straight flush.

The clock struck eleven, and she used that as her cue to leave. She rose.

Her competitors also stood, wearing kind expressions, except Gruening, who looked ill.

Thank you, gentlemen, she said as she took her earnings ticket from the dealer. I enjoyed myself.

I should say so, Wells commented dryly.

A beautiful woman makes losing enjoyable, Orme said with a bow.

Everleigh laughed. Spoken like a true Frenchman.

The man shrugged, but an appreciative smile lingered on his lips.

As she left, her heart pounded in utter amazement. Not because she’d won. She’d done that often.

No.

But because she might’ve helped someone. Somehow, she would get the money to the Withers family.

She took the stairs to the second floor, then entered the room that had been her home for the last three years. With her mind on tomorrow’s strategy, she prepared for bed. Once in her linen gown, she moved over to her desk and removed her stationery.

She would have to leave a note with the money that explained to the family that it was, indeed, theirs. With careful strokes, she penned one simple line:

For your family’s needs.

Should she sign it? Not with her own name, no.

As she thought, she wiggled her pen between her fingers, excited to dream up this persona. Perhaps the moniker should refer to her nightly pursuits.

Gamble was a good last name, and she didn’t know anyone who had the same in Houston. Her mind brought forth other poker terms, and when she thought of bet, she realized she could stretch that into Betsy.

Delighted, she moved to sign the card, but paused. Did she want the family to realize she was a woman? Mr. Withers might remember the female who manned the desk at Mr. Abbott’s office.

Everleigh truly wanted to remain anonymous. Mr. Abbott didn’t know she gambled nightly, and neither did her family. It wasn’t seemly for a lady, and she hadn’t wanted to add to her parents’ worries, and so had kept it hidden.

So...not Betsy.

Honestly, she would prefer a name that gave nothing away.

Hmm...

Bets.

Bets Gamble.

She smiled to herself. Yes, that would do nicely.

ONE YEAR LATER

Everleigh twitched her lips, fighting a joyful smile as she rocked with the motion of the electric car. She rode the conveyance to the office on a sunny, Monday morning. She held the newest edition of the paper, folded for ease, and read the article titled, Mysterious Gamble Appears Again.

It was a shorter piece on the second page of the Houston Post, but it was the seventh written about the person leaving money for people in dire need. Fortunately, Everleigh had learned of others in financial straits in places other than Mr. Abbott’s office. Therefore, she’d remained anonymous all these months. It had been such a joy to continue what she’d started that fateful evening, and even better that she could do so in peace.

When the car reached her stop, she hurried off, then stepped up onto the concrete walk and headed toward the office of Paul Abbott, Attorney-At-Law. It only took her a few minutes to reach the narrow building situated between Brewster’s Tailoring and Schneider’s Leather Goods.

The new brass plate nailed into the limestone made her grimace. With a sigh, she entered and thought about the changes coming next week.

Mr. Abbott had found a partner. A Mr. Wade Bennett from Dallas, and she wasn’t certain if Mr. Abbott had told Mr. Bennett about her.

The old boy was absentminded. He was sixty, and she’d agreed that he’d needed a partner, but he’d promised to explain that Everleigh was just as important to the office as the lawyers, and she was worried he’d forgotten. After letting out another sigh, she maneuvered around the seating area just in front of her desk, then set the paper on the surface.

Behind her was a half-railing of carved oak that separated her space from the lawyers’ desks. A ten-foot ceiling allowed for shelving units to line the back, right, and left walls. Books of varying sizes and subjects stood cover to cover in the cubbies, waiting to be plucked for the wealth of information they held.

To her right, the door to the parlor and eating area stood partially ajar. She gave it a momentary glance, then flipped open her appointment book. As she checked the schedule for the day, she realized she was going to have to get used to working for two people. They were now Abbott and Bennett, Attorneys-At-Law.

At least the new name rolled off her tongue well enough, she thought to herself.

You’re late.

She yelped and jumped, covering her mouth as she turned toward the strong, firm reprimand.

A man stood in the open doorway of the parlor, his hands in the pockets of his gray trousers. She took in his short, blond hair, granite jaw, full lips, and piercing blue eyes, but it was his glower she fixed on.

I-I beg your pardon? she stammered, unable to gather her wits at his surprising entrance.

He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. As he considered the time, he asked, You’re Miss Everleigh Camden, the secretary?

Foreboding slipped up her spine as her brain began to work and she realized who was speaking to her. I am.

And your day starts at nine? He closed his watch and returned it to his vest pocket before looking at her again.

Yes. She pressed her lips into a thin line. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to point out that Mr. Abbott hadn’t yet arrived either, especially since she had no idea how late she was. Perhaps fifteen minutes. Maybe.

As he regarded her, she refused to fidget and held her arms loose at her sides.

His glower did not ease, but he said, In the future, you’ll be more respectful of our working hours.

Her ire spiked, and she had to swallow a retort. I assume you’re Mr. Wade Bennett?

He nodded once. I am.

You’re early.

By a whole week, yes, I know. His mouth tipped up at the corners. It’s much better than being late.

She lifted her brow, noticing the nice masculine curve of his lips. She shook off the unwanted observation. An opinion, Mr. Bennett. Who knows what I might have avoided by getting a later start this morning.

He narrowed his eyes slightly and was quiet while assessing her once more. After a few moments, he said, I’ve not had a female secretary before, but Abbott informed me you’re helpful.

She smoothed her hands over the front of her form-fitting, linen, navy jacket and skirt. I enjoy the work here and have been employed with Mr. Abbott for the last four years. Ever since she’d gained control over her trust fund and had explained to her parents that she wanted a job before a marriage, she’d run the office of Paul Abbott. Her mother was still shedding tears she’d chosen a job over marriage.

Finally, Mr. Bennett moved from where he stood, strolling toward the seating area just in front of her desk. He stopped behind one of the leather, wingback chairs. He explained you even help in court.

She hadn’t expected Mr. Abbott to say so much. Sometimes.

And that you’re discreet.

Always.

Mr. Bennett’s expression finally eased, going from irritation to slight interest. I’m looking forward to working here then. But tell me...are you usually late?

Again, she had to bite back a retort, but she refused to shy away from answering correctly. I have no idea.

He frowned. What do you mean?

She gave a nonchalant shrug. Mr. Abbott isn’t so strict, so I’m not sure if I’m at my desk at nine sharp each day.

Mr. Bennett’s blue eyes stormed with irritation. Let’s be more mindful of it, shall we?

How she wanted to argue, but he was as much her boss as Mr. Abbott. Of course.

He nodded then moved toward the railing with its swinging door. If we could get started, I would appreciate it. I have a secondary reason for moving to Houston, and I plan on succeeding quickly and efficiently.

She turned, finally noticing that the second desk that had been moved in last week held a blotter, pen and ink set, paperweight, and several stacked newspapers. Very ordered. Very...minimal.

Oh, dear.

She wasn’t going to like Mr. Bennett, despite his handsomeness and tall, capable frame. And what is it that we will be doing?

He spread one of the newspapers out on his desk, and without looking up replied, We’re going to catch the Shooter Creek Bandits.

Chapter Two

Wade Bennett had his notebook resting beside one of the newest papers he’d acquired that detailed the most recent Shooter Creek Bandits’ attack. His notebook was worn, and almost every page was covered with facts about each person belonging to the gang, their murders, robberies, and travel patterns. He was never without it.

As he sat down, he flipped it open to the timeline he’d created.

What do you mean...catch the Shooter Creek Bandits? Miss Camden came toward the railing and rested her hands on the top. How will we do that? We’re not detectives, and I’m certain the Pinkertons are tracking them now.

Wade met her concerned gaze. This quest is important to me. I took this job for two reasons. He held up his index finger. One, the District Attorney, whom I know well, has made the gang’s capture his work. And two, Abbott’s praise of your research abilities and intelligence was extensive.

She gaped at him.

Wade paused at her shocked reaction. Was he incorrect? Are you not capable?

As she came out of her stupor, she replied, I’m not sure how adept I am, but I’ve helped him a lot. She licked her lips. I just...didn’t expect him to be complimentary. Honestly, I had figured he wouldn’t mention me at all.

With a lift of his brow, Wade responded, He didn’t. I asked about the abilities of the secretary in one of my letters. He wrote back. Wade recalled what he’d read. There were three pages worth of information detailing many things about you.

She snapped her mouth shut and went rigid.

Wade bit back a smile, realizing she probably didn’t appreciate that he knew facts about her. But it wasn’t his fault. So...let’s get to work, shall we? He nodded toward two boxes he’d brought with him from Dallas that sat on the ground next to the railing. There are many articles in those boxes that detail past events. I’d like you to start reading them. Make notes. Do the job Abbott declared you could do, please.

Slowly, she turned, looking down at the boxes. I’m assuming you’ve already poured over them.

I have, but I’d prefer not to share what I’ve learned. I need you to be a fresh set of eyes, untainted by the bias of my opinions.

With a curious and interested expression, she went to the first box stacked on top of the second and lifted the lid. Oh, dear.

He watched her retrieve the top edition, knowing it was going to be a lot of information to go through. There are about thirty newspapers in each box. Some from San Antonio, some from Dallas and Fort Worth, and others from here.

As she studied the edition she held, she said, Are they all folded similar to this one with the article about each attack easily visible?

They are.

And you kept the whole newspaper because...

He inclined his head at the edition she held. Because there might’ve been something else going on that day that matters. Or perhaps we need the society columns to help us learn different elements about the town and its people.

Her brow arched, and she murmured, Hmm.

Quiet rose between them, and he watched her read for a moment.

She was pretty. Beautiful, really. Her face, lightly lined in thought, was heart-shaped, as were her lips. Her brown hair gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the collection of windows inserted above the shelves of books. But her eyes had gripped him from the start.

Green. Expressive, intelligent.

When he’d learned Abbott’s secretary was female, he hadn’t thought twice about it. But now that he was around her, he could see the problem.

She was attractive.

And he was attracted.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, then forcibly turned his focus back to the article that recounted the newest attack. It had been a while since he’d paid attention to the opposite sex. Certainly, whatever allure she possessed would fade over the coming days. Just needed to get used to having a woman around.

As she began to remove more papers, he concentrated harder on his work. The soft sounds of her moving about and preparing for the task he’d given her kept him distracted, but he did what he could to ignore her.

After ten minutes of reading the same paragraph over and over, he had to bite back a growl of frustration. Ridiculous.

The front door opened, making him look up, and her, as well.

Abbott, with his shock of white hair, came strolling in. Morning, dear, he said cheerfully.

Miss Camden stood. Good morning. You have a ten o’clock appointment with Mr. Reynolds.

Ah, yes. The land dispute.

Wade also rose.

Bennett! Abbott said with even more joviality as he pushed open the gate to the railing. You’ve made it, hale and already at it, I see.

Yes, sir.

Abbott went around to his desk that held far too many loose stacks of papers in Wade’s opinion. Does Keney know you’ve arrived? Abbott inquired.

I spent supper at his home last night. Wade slipped his hands into his pockets and felt the curious gaze of Miss Camden. We had a good start to our quest.

Wonderful! Abbott fell into his chair. Everleigh, I assume Bennett told you he’s on the hunt for the Shooter Creek Bandits.

Yes, sir, she answered, her sweet voice hitting Wade square in the jaw.

He gritted his teeth and kept his eyes averted from her. He had no wish for any sort of female companionship and would have to do whatever was necessary to maintain distance from Miss Camden.

Good, good. Keney thanked me profusely for hiring Bennett here. Abbott started rifling through one of the stacks of papers on his desk. "I would have to say, I applaud