Book 10: Gun For Hire Sweet Western Romance Series

July 30, 2025

He left without saying goodbye. Now he’s back—injured, weary, and in her care.

In the small northeast Texas town of Tucker’s Gap, Hattie Brooks has fought to overcome the quiet prejudices that shadow her birth and her chosen work. As her uncle’s medical assistant, she’s found her calling—and is slowly earning a place in a community that doesn’t easily forget. But when Luke Dawson—the boy who once rode away without a word—returns after a near-fatal accident, Hattie’s hard-won peace is put to the test.

Luke never planned to return to Tucker's Gap. As a Texas Ranger, he’s built a life defined by duty, danger, and distance from the past. But when an ambush leaves him badly injured, the only road to recovery leads back to the town he once left behind—and to Hattie, the girl he hurt without meaning to, now grown into a capable woman he can't ignore.

Luke's plan is to heal and leave as quickly as he came. But the more time he spends in Tucker’s Gap—watching Hattie work, reconnecting with old ties, and facing the ghosts he never quite laid to rest—the harder it becomes to walk away. Especially when he begins to wonder if the life he’s built is really the one he wants… and if the woman he left behind might just be the home he’s been searching for all along.

Hattie wiped her hands on her apron and glanced at the clock above the medicine shelf. Uncle Milton had left to meet the stage a few minutes ago, but the uneasy flutter in her chest hadn’t settled. She reached for the supply ledger, intending to double-check the inventory—but the words blurred.

Luke Dawson’s name kept circling her thoughts like a persistent gnat.

She hadn’t seen him in nearly a decade, but the echo of that long-ago infatuation—the one she kept telling herself was safely buried—had a way of surfacing at the worst times. Foolish, really. She was a grown woman now. That girl with stars in her eyes had no business showing up today.

The clinic door banged open, slamming against the wall, making Hattie jump. Uncle Milton burst in, his medical bag in hand and urgency in every step.

“Hattie! There’s been an accident at the Johnsons’ farm. Tom fell from the hayloft—unconscious, bleeding badly.”

She rose immediately. “That’s awful. I’ll grab my bag and head right out—”

“No.” He was already gathering supplies. “I need to handle this one myself.”

She blinked. A familiar pang—quick and tight—pressed behind her ribs. Was he doubting her capabilities? But she nodded. “Then I’ll come assist—”

“Actually, I need you to meet the stagecoach since I can’t. From what Frank said, Luke’ll likely need immediate care.”

Luke.

The name landed like a stone dropped in still water.

Ten years, and he could still affect her—her stomach was churning like sand in a windstorm.

But she gave a short nod. “Of course. I’ll take care of it.”

Thankfully, it appeared her uncle hadn’t noticed her hesitation—he was already halfway out the door.

She sighed. So much for keeping her distance from Luke. Fate, apparently, had other plans.

Straightening, she drew a steadying breath and grabbed her medical satchel. She’d done this before—put on a calm face when her insides were twisting. She’d face Luke Dawson the same way she faced any patient.

“Just another body to mend,” she muttered, heading for the door. “Nothing more.”

She scribbled a quick note on the chalkboard in the window, letting folks know she’d be at the Briarwood Hotel, then stepped outside.

The midday sun bathed Tucker’s Gap in dusty gold. A horse snorted nearby, and the scent of baking bread drifted from the shop next door. A breeze tugged at her skirts as she crossed Main Street toward the Briarwood, its whitewashed facade a little faded, the shutters rattling softly in the wind.

Her left hand slipped into her pocket almost of its own accord. Her fingers closed around the small wooden fox she’d impulsively pulled from her handkerchief drawer that morning. The familiar curves and flaw in the grain pressed into her palm like a quiet promise. She hadn’t carried it in years, but today, it grounded her.

“Now there’s a sight for sore eyes,” came a familiar voice. “My favorite goddaughter.”

Hattie glanced up to find Sheriff Frank Gleason leaning against a post, his hat tipped back and a smile creasing his weathered face.

“I’m your only goddaughter,” she said, managing a faint smile.

“Still counts,” he said, eyes sharp beneath the brim. “You look like a doe about to bolt. Everything alright?”

She hesitated. “I’m just... concerned about Luke’s condition. And whether I can handle it alone.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was enough.

Frank’s expression softened. “You’ve got a better head on your shoulders than half the doctors I’ve known. Luke’s lucky it’s you he’ll see first.”

She gave a stiff nod just as a distant rumble turned both their heads. The stagecoach rounded the corner in a cloud of dust, wheels clattering over packed earth.

Her pulse jumped.

The healer in her imagined the agony of jostling across miles with broken ribs. The woman in her remembered a smile, a nickname she used to hate, and a foolish schoolgirl dream that had been dashed abruptly.

The stage jolted to a stop, and Hattie drew herself up, willing herself to ignore the hammering of her heart. Dust billowed around the wheels as the driver climbed down, but she caught only a glimpse from the corner of her eye. Her gaze stayed fixed on the coach door.

Any second now.

Her fingers curled tighter around the handle of her satchel.

For a moment, all was still.

Then a tall figure emerged, swaying.

Hattie’s breath caught. Luke looked… older. Broader in the shoulders, thinner in the face. Worn down—like a man who’d ridden too hard for too long.

For half a heartbeat, his gaze met hers, and something deep inside her stirred—sharp, aching, almost foolish.

Then his eyes rolled back, and he crumpled.