Page 20 of Eden and her Mercenary (Changing of the Guards)

Royal

S ix months after Eden's hospital discharge, you'd never guess she'd been at death's door.

The afternoon sun catches her engagement ring as we sit hand-in-hand on our cabin's front porch, waiting for the next delivery of rescued animals. All she's told me is that we're receiving some "traumatized menagerie."

"Give me a hint about what's coming," I say, squeezing her hand.

Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "One is quite massive. Plus, three dogs, two cats, and a horse."

"So, the horse is the massive one."

She shakes her head, lips curving upward. "Not even close."

"Not even close, huh?" I lean forward, scanning the dirt road that winds through the pines toward our sanctuary. "Don't tell me it's an elephant."

Eden laughs, the sound warming me like summer sunshine. "Not that massive. But you're thinking in the right direction."

Before I can guess again, the distant rumble of an engine catches my attention. A cloud of dust rises above the tree line as a transport truck lumbers into view, followed by a horse trailer.

"Here they come," Eden says, rising from her rocking chair.

I stand beside her, watching as the vehicles approach. The truck slows to navigate the final curve in our driveway, its suspension groaning under whatever weight it carries.

Then we hear it—a high-pitched, frantic squealing that pierces the afternoon quiet. The sound is unmistakable, though entirely unexpected.

"Is that a pig?" I ask, eyebrows raised.

Eden nods, barely containing her excitement. "Not just any pig. She's a rescued breeding sow from a factory farm. Five hundred pounds of traumatized porcine who's never felt grass beneath her feet."

The truck comes to a stop, and the driver waves. The squealing intensifies as the vehicle settles.

"Five hundred pounds?" I repeat, trying to imagine the size. "Where are we going to keep her?"

"We converted the old storage barn, remember? The one with the attached yard? It's perfect for her. "

The driver hops down, clipboard in hand. "Afternoon, folks! Got your special delivery here. Bertha's been quite vocal for the last twenty miles."

Eden steps forward to greet him. "How was the journey?"

"The dogs and cats were angels. Horse was stoic. Bertha, though..." He gestures toward the truck. "She's got opinions."

I peek around the side of the truck. Through the ventilation slats, I catch a glimpse of something enormous and pink. Another piercing squeal makes me step back.

"She's scared," Eden says softly. "Wouldn't you be? Eight years confined to a gestation crate barely bigger than her body, then suddenly loaded into a strange box and driven for hours."

The reality of what this animal has endured hits me. This is why we built this place, why Eden pushed herself through recovery with such determination. For creatures like Bertha, who have never known kindness.

"Well," I say, rolling up my sleeves, "let's show her she's home now."

The driver hands Eden the clipboard. "You'll need to sign here. And fair warning—the unloading might be... challenging."

Bertha takes her first tentative steps onto our property, her massive head swinging from side to side as she assesses her surroundings. When her hooves touch grass—perhaps for the first time in her life—she freezes, then snorts in what sounds remarkably like surprise.

"Welcome home, you big beautiful porkchop,” I murmur, and Eden barks out a laugh.

“Don’t even think about it! Once she is rehabilitated a bit, she has a home with Kim and Dean over at the inn.”

“Did I hear my name called?” Kim is walking from behind the horse trailer with Dean in tow.

“You certainly did. Coming to check out your new addition?” Eden smiled.

Kim nodded vigorously. “Oh, would you look at her?” she sighed. “Isn’t she a beauty? We should have brought Peony, to see if they get along.”

“Forget it,” Dean chuckled. “One pig living in the Inn is enough. I’m surprised none of the guest have complained.”

She laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Actually, most guests don't even notice Peony. The ghosts haunting the inn keep them pretty distracted."

I raised an eyebrow. "Ghosts? You've never mentioned ghosts before."

"Oh, they're harmless," Kim waved dismissively. " Just creaky floorboards at night, doors that open on their own, the occasional cold spot in the hallway. Guests either love it or they're too freaked out to complain about a pig wandering around the garden."

Dean nodded solemnly. "The old place has history. Built in 1873. Three confirmed deaths on the property."

Eden shot me an amused glance. "And you're okay sharing your inn with spirits?"

"They were there first," Kim shrugged. "Besides, it's good for business. We market ourselves as 'Pearl Lake’s Most Haunted Bed and Breakfast' now. The Halloween bookings alone pay our property taxes."

Bertha snorted and took another hesitant step forward, her hooves sinking slightly into the soft earth. She seemed mesmerized by the sensation.

"Look at her," Eden whispered. "She's discovering the world for the first time."

I watched as Bertha's snout lowered to investigate the grass, her powerful sense of smell taking in everything. After a moment, she began to root around, instincts older than her captivity finally expressing themselves.

"This is what it's all about," I said, slipping my arm around Eden's waist. "Second chances."

Eden leaned against me, her body warm and solid. Six months ago, I'd been sitting by her hospital bed, terrified I might lose her. Now here we were, building something meaningful together.

"We should let her settle in," Eden said. "The transport team still needs to unload the others."

As we walked back toward the truck, I glanced over my shoulder at Bertha exploring her new home, while Kim and Dean were discussing where in their haunted inn two, five-hundred-pound pigs might sleep.

This wasn't the life I'd planned. It was better—messier and more challenging, but infinitely more rewarding. Eden had shown me that saving one animal might not change the world, but for that animal, the world changed completely.

And in saving them, somehow, we'd saved ourselves too.

the end

If this is the first time you have read my books and you want to learn more about the MacGallan clan in the Changing of the Guards series, be sure to continue reading for a glimpse of Blindsided, book 4.

The series is interconnected so it is best to start with Savior, followed by Salvation and then Sanctuary .

Prologue

Declan MacGallan

I stood with a glass of champagne in my hand, watching Connor and Mia head out the door.

I envied my little brother’s happy-go-lucky, carefree attitude.

Sure, Connor was officially captain of the clan now, but I knew it would never truly work out.

That’s why I’d agreed to stay with him as his partner.

I sighed as I scanned the room, half listening to Wren at my side and Kat talking animatedly about flowers, when my gaze landed on my cousin Kane.

He was staring directly at Wren—not just staring, but eye-fucking her.

Rory slid up beside me and as I handed him my champagne glass he muttered, “Sucks to be him.”

I stalked across the crowded dance floor and planted myself in front of Kane. Grabbing him by the lapels, I snarled, “Keep your fucking eyes off my wife,” then smashed my fist into his face.

I weaved back through the crowd, flexing my right hand and trying not to wince. When I returned, Wren watched me curiously, her champagne flute balanced between her fingers.

“Where did you disappear to?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Just needed to handle something,” I replied, still shaking my hand.

Rory snorted, handing me back my glass. “By ‘something,’ he means Kane ’s face. Nice right hook, by the way. I especially enjoyed the way his head snapped back.”

“Jesus, Rory,” I muttered, though a slight smile tugged at my lips as I sipped.

Wren’s eyes went wide. “You hit Kane?”

“He deserved it,” I said.

Rory cleared his throat and looked uneasy. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a cream-colored envelope. “Almost forgot. This was delivered for you earlier.”

I frowned, set my glass on a nearby table, and tore it open. Inside was my father’s handwriting. As I read, the color drained from my face.

“Is this some kind of joke?” I demanded, looking at Rory.

“What? No. What is it?” he asked.

My hand trembled. “It’s… it’s from my father. Dated two years ago.”

“Wasn’t that before his dementia really set in?” Wren whispered, moving closer.

“Yes, it was,” I said, looking at Wren. “Around the time we met at the nursing home.” My mind raced as I recalled that day—before I knew she'd become the most important person in my life.

I glanced around the reception hall, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. The familiar faces of the ‘family’ were not so trusting now. “Outside. Now.”

Kat and Rory exchanged concerned looks but followed as I gestured toward the doors.

I placed my hand on the small of Wren's back, guiding her through the crowd, past the confused and out onto the veranda of the country club.

The night air was cool against my face, stars puncturing the darkness above.

“Declan, what the hell is going on?” Wren asked, her voice tinged with worry.

I took a deep breath and unfolded the letter. “You, Kat and Rory need to hear this. ”

As they gathered around, I cleared my throat and began to read: