Her back was stiff, her shoulders tense, and for a moment he was torn between a slight taste of guilt and a strong sense of rightness, so of course the rightness won. She’d forgive him once she understood. And she would understand; he’d make her understand. But all such thoughts flew out of his head when he was confronted with the slender woman standing poised near the bookcase, framed by an array of trophies. She appeared little older than her daughter, except for her assessing, calm presence and the weathered lines that were beginning to crinkle the corners of her eyes. Her hair was blond, her skin deeply bronzed from exposure to the sun. But her tightly belted waist was still slim, the jean-clad hips and legs were shapely, and the clear eyes that met his gaze were narrowed in a challenge so similar to that of her daughter that for a moment he felt he was catching a glimpse of what the future held. One hand on her hip, Dorinda Ledbetter gave Alex the uneasy feeling that she might not be as easily won over as he’d assumed.
