A soft rap on the shed door was followed by the creak of it opening. Mercy expected to see the scraggly, bearded face of the miner and was surprised to see Joseph’s handsome face instead.

His warm brown eyes found her, and something reserved within the depths of them sent her heart to spiraling.

He had news for her.

“You’re back sooner than I expected,” she whispered, needing to delay his message for as long as possible. “Just admit that, with each passing day, you want to be with me more.”

“More than you can know,” he whispered, his voice rumbling with a need that matched the glimmer in his eyes.

Heat shimmered across her skin and soaked down to her bones. This was how it was every time they were together. It was exquisite torture.

Joseph cast a glance at the native woman still sleeping on the cot before crossing two long strides to reach her. Before Mercy could protest that they weren’t alone, he cupped both of her cheeks and leaned in to claim her mouth in a slow and delicate kiss, one that teased her with promises of what was to come.

At another squeak from the babe, Mercy forced herself back, breaking the kiss. “Joseph,” she admonished, ducking her head as her cheeks flushed. She darted a glance at the mother, who remained motionless.

“Is one week enough time in which to plan the wedding?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back, as if by doing so he could prevent himself from reaching for her again.

“One week?” Mercy’s heart dropped. She knew what was coming and didn’t want to talk about it. Frantically, she looked around the cramped shed, searching for anything else that might divert their attention. “But the Robert Lowe won’t be here for weeks, if not months.”

“Mercy,” he whispered tenderly as if sensing her mounting panic. “Patience is not coming.”

Swift tears filled her eyes. She’d guessed Patience had passed away, had tried to allow herself to grieve. But now . . .

Joseph removed a telegram from his coat pocket. It was dirty and beaten as though it had traveled through a battlefield to reach them. He pried open the envelope and pulled out a sheet filled with small black print.

She had the urge to run from the shed or at least plug her ears. As the infant’s squeaks erupted into a sudden, piercing wail, she turned away from Joseph and the telegram. The mother’s eyes flew open, and she struggled to sit.

Joseph was at the woman’s side in an instant, easing her up even as Mercy placed the babe in her waiting arms. With the sutures in her abdomen, Mercy had no doubt the mother was in extreme discomfort. But other than the slightest wince, she didn’t show it.