<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f0/Marguerite_Tuerny02.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Marguerite Tuerny<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Vigilance Ranch<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Nathan Hunter, Closed<br/><hr/>She turned to face him, the graceful curves of her bare back replaced in his gaze with the fuller, softer curves of her breast.  She watched as he approached and she smiled as he spoke and she accepted his kiss with the poise of a woman well-used to the gesture.  She even tilted her head and bowed in a quickly-dipped curtsy.  Of course, given the bare nature of her torso the movement and the reactions it spawned weren't quite so chaste as it played in polite society.<br/><br/>She listened to his declaration with feelings that were half-chagrined, half-amused, half-impressed, half-  that was several too many halves.  She could stop him.  His back was to her as he struggled with the door, but if she called to him, if she asked him to stay, then he would come back.  More than likely.  Probably.<br/><br/>She shrugged again and let him go.  She then completed her disrobing.  The bath was warm and relaxing and she savored every moment of it.  But those moments weren't many. No amount of scrubbing would really cleanse her, so she finished quickly.  Fresh and clean and pink and damp, she stepped from the tin tub and dried herself with the towel left by the rancher's wife.  It was a small scratchy towel, almost more gray than white - but it absorbed enough to pull droplets from her skin.  It worked well enough as a wrap too - when she tucked it into itself tightly under her arms.<br/><br/>The small boy watched her walk from shed to house, too young to really appreciate what he saw but old enough to be curious.  She flashed hm a brief warm smile that didn't linger an instant, and then she was indoors where she quickly made her way to the bedroom to dress.