She glanced up the street toward the sounds of drunken laughter. Lights blazed from the big tent where she'd seen the prostitute earlier, and it was toward that structure that she made her way, her heart hammering a warning. She wasn't sure what was more frightening – the abject silence that followed her up the street or the raucous sounds ahead of her. A tent. It wasn't even a building. She'd seen some disreputable saloons, but nothing like this. The air would be stagnant with cigar smoke and whiskey. She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to be here. More than anything she wanted to go back to Natchez and the life she had so disdained. If only… There was nothing there anymore. She couldn't go back, not to Natchez and not to the room where Rafe lay sleeping. He hadn't moved, even when she'd nudged him with the toe of her new boot. He should sleep the night away, after all the laudanum she'd given him. In the morning, he'd never even suspect she hadn't been in bed all night or that she had enough money to leave him behind.
