A hand reached over Smythe’s forehead and covered his face. Fingers dug into his eyes.
Alyson.
She yanked Smythe’s head back. With her other hand, she pressed a cloth over his face. Chloroform. Alyson was using his own chloroform rag against him.
Smythe thrashed, trying to escape the fumes, trying to break away.
Dex held on with all his strength. Just a minute or two and Smythe would be unconscious.
Time seemed to move in slow motion. Smythe’s thrashing slowed. Finally it stopped. His body went limp and draped across Dex, pinning him to the carpet.
Dex looked up into Alyson’s wide green eyes, so frightened yet so strong. Her fingers still dug into Smythe’s eyes. Her hand still clamped the rag over his mouth and nose, knuckles white with exertion. “Is he out? Is it over?”
Dex nodded. “It’s over. Thank God, it’s over.”
She exhaled a heavy breath and let the rag slip from her hand and fall to the floor. She pulled her fingers from Smythe’s eyes. His head lolled forward onto Dex’s chest. Alyson sat on the floor, staring at the blood on her fingertips as if she wasn’t sure how it got there.
Dex pushed Smythe’s body off and crawled to his knees. Blood oozed from his knife wounds, but he didn’t care.
He moved to Alyson’s side. Reaching her, he smoothed strands of auburn hair from her cheeks and slipped his arm around her, pulling her close.
Her gaze moved to the blood smeared over his skin, shirt and jeans. Fear flared in her eyes. “You’re hurt.” She struggled to climb to her feet, but he held her in place.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re cut and bleeding.”
He almost smiled. It was so like Alyson to care about his welfare above everything else. She would give anything for him. Why hadn’t he seen it before? And why hadn’t he been willing to do the same for her? “The cuts aren’t that deep. I’ll be fine. We’ll tend to them, but not now.”
She searched his eyes, not understanding.
“Now we need to talk.”
“Whatever it is, it can wait. You—”
He held a finger to her lips, halting the flow of words. “This has waited too long already. It can’t wait any longer.” He’d almost lost her. Almost lost the only thing he couldn’t survive losing. And he wasn’t going to waste another moment. Not before he told her how he felt. Not before he claimed her as his own. “I love you, Alyson.”
She looked away from him, eyeing Smythe’s prone body. “I love you, too, Dex. Are you sure he won’t wake up?”
He laughed and glanced at the scum lying in a heap on the floor. He’d been so wrapped up in what he had to say to Alyson, in making her understand, that he’d pushed Smythe from his mind. “After what you did to him, I’m sure. But if you like, we can walk out to the porch and summon the police while we talk.”
She nodded. Arm tight around his waist, she stepped toward the door.
He limped by her side. This arrangement wasn’t his idea of romantic, but it didn’t matter. He needed to tell her how he felt, to get on with the rest of their lives. And he wouldn’t wait. Not one more minute. “Like I said before, I love you, Alyson.”
She looked up at him, her hair falling back from her face. Her eyes were still wide, tears of relief pooling in the corners. She’d been through so much. The hell Dex had put her through the last two years, the kidnapping of her baby, and now Smythe’s attack. And by pure willpower, she’d survived it all.
His throat closed. How could he possibly tell her all he felt? “I know you’re not a dream, that what we have together isn’t a dream.”
A slight smile lifted the corners of her mouth.
“You were right this morning when you said I never felt I deserved happiness. I didn’t. I was too busy assigning blame to my father, to myself. It never occurred to me that reality could be different from the way I saw it. It never occurred to me that in a way, I was making my own misery.”
Alyson’s hand found his arm, her fingers stroking his skin as if encouraging him to go on.
“When you came into my life, you didn’t fit with the misery I’d planned for myself. So I was always waiting for proof that I was right, that what you and I had was a mistake.”
“And you found it.”
“Yes. And if I hadn’t, I would have made something up. Anything to keep seeing the world the way I told myself it was.”
“And now?”
“Now I see the world doesn’t have to be that way. You showed me that, Alyson.”
Her eyes searched his. Concern creased her brow and compressed her lips.
“I saw my father today.” He still hadn’t worked out all of his feelings about his father. Hell, that would probably take years. But at least he had a start.
“And?”
“He reminded me of one very important person I’ve forgotten in all this. My mother.” He stopped walking. Trailing his fingers over Alyson’s skin, he cupped her smooth cheek. “She was very much like you. Loving. Giving. Ready to see the best in people, no matter if they deserved it or not.”
“I wish I could have met her.”
“You would have loved her. And she would have loved you.”
Alyson’s lips softened into a smile.
“I’ve had good things in my life. And I can reach out and accept good into my life again.” He gripped the doorknob.
She nodded, tears pooling in her eyes and transforming them into a shimmering green. “I know you can.”
His heart seized in his chest. She believed in him. She always had. He’d just been too blind to see it. He gathered her hand in his. “I always thought that if this time ever came, I’d get down on one knee with flowers and music and a diamond ring to give you.”
A tear broke loose and trickled down her cheek. “Music and flowers and jewelry are overrated sometimes.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, because I can’t wait another minute.” He swallowed into a dry throat. “Will you marry me, Alyson? Will you and Patrick be the good in my life? Will you be my family?”
She wiped her cheek with the back of one hand and gave him a watery smile. “On one condition.”
“Anything.”
“That you be the good in my life, as well.”
He pulled open the door. “Just try to stop me.”
ISBN: 978-1-4592-4075-9
CLAIMING HIS FAMILY
Copyright © 2003 by Ann Voss Peterson
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Claiming His Family Page 17