Page 61 of That Touch

We talk over the next hour about things in Texas, Milly’s engagement, and how Dolly is just about to sell her house . . . to Paige of all people.

“Son, why don’t we grab a whiskey and head out to the porch for a bit, let the ladies talk?” I follow my dad out back after we stop by their wet bar and pour ourselves tumblers of whiskey. “Are you happy, son?” My dad leans against one of the pillars on the porch.

“Happiest I’ve ever been,” I say confidently, something I couldn’t admit to myself—let alone someone else—just a month ago.

“Good. Listen, I know you’re a grown man, and I know you already know this, but you deserve to be happy. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”

“What I wanted to talk to you about, though, was that young lady in there. I know she’s always been your best friend, and that’s the best way to start a marriage.” He looks at me seriously. “She deserves that, son.”

So that’s where this is going.

“Dad, it’s already in the works. Trust me, I’ve wanted to marry that woman since the night I met her. I know we aren’t doing things the traditional way, but she’ll have a ring on her finger in no time, I can promise you that. I’m going to spend the rest of my life worshipping her. I’ve got you and Mom to thank for being the example of how a marriage should be.”

Dad doesn’t say another word. He just reaches out, grabbing my bicep before turning to look out over the sun setting against the mountains as we sip our whiskey in silence.

21

DAHLIA

“Baby, I’ll hire someone to pack your house. Seriously, you should be taking it easy.”

“Ranger,” I place my hand on my hip, frustrated I’ve had this same conversation with him three times already, “I am five months pregnant, I’m healthy, and the doctor said I’m fine to pack up my house. I’m not doing any heavy lifting. I’m leaving that to you and your family this weekend.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, clearly still not okay with it. “But don’t push it. I’ll be around if you need any help, otherwise just leave it for this weekend and we’ll handle it.”

“I appreciate it, truly,” I reach up and kiss his cheek, “but I have a lot of years and memories in this house, so I’d like some time to myself to go through things and pack up. Say goodbye on my own terms.”

“I understand.” He reaches out and places his hand against my belly, something he’s been doing often, especially now that I have a small bump.

I love this man more than anything, but his helicoptering is driving me crazy. I know with my past history of miscarriage, he has every right to be concerned, but every doctor visit has gone well. Baby girl is healthy and growing and we’re past the danger zone.

“Thank you, baby. I promise that if anything comes up, I’ll give you a call. Otherwise, I’ll see you at home tonight, okay?”

“You want me to bring you lunch?” he says hopefully, still holding on to me.

“No, I still have food here.” I smile. “Go to work. I’m sure Tyler needs your help.”

“Okay, I love you.” He kisses me then crouches down in front of me. “Daddy loves you too, baby girl.” He kisses my belly, then kisses me one more time before walking to his truck to head to the ranch.

“All right, baby girl, it’s just you and Mommy today,” I say, rubbing my belly. I’ve kept my typical work schedule, keeping the shop closed on Thursdays so I have two days a week to focus on packing up my house. Ranger, Trent, Tyler, and probably a few of their cousins will be here on Sunday to pack up all the big stuff so it’s completely empty for Paige’s closing in a few weeks.

I turn on some music, deciding to pack up the living room first. I pull down the pictures from the mantle, some of which have been there since Dean and I moved into this little place over eight years ago.

We bought it for practically nothing since it was so run down, but we both put in hours of sweat equity, doing one project at a time until we’d remodeled the entire place. It took about a year, which was long considering the house is only just over 800 square feet, but we only started a new project once we had enough money saved up for it.

I wrap the frames in bubble wrap, placing them inside the moving box. I repeat the process with all of the little knickknacks, books, and odds and ends until the room is cleared of all personal items, with only the furniture remaining. I do the same with my bedroom, which has mostly been cleared out already since all of my clothes and toiletries are already at Ranger’s house—my new home.

The kitchen is the last room I need to pack, other than the attic. I’ve been putting the attic off since it houses most of my memories with Dean. I take a deep breath as I pull the ladder down from the ceiling. It’s not that I haven’t moved on from Dean or healed from that tragic loss, but it’s never easy being reminded of something so traumatic. I still struggle at times with the guilt of having wanted to give up on my relationship with him right before he died.

I climb the stairs and turn on the light. The room is dusty; I haven’t been up here in I don’t know how many years. I bend over since the ceiling is half the height of a normal room. Everything is already in boxes, and while I won’t carry them down the ladder by myself today, I know there’s probably stuff I need to let go of up here. I grab an old lightweight ottoman that’s covered in plastic and pull it over to the pile of boxes in the corner.

The first box is markedDean’s Clothes. I open the lid and peer inside, finding his clothes neatly folded. A T-shirt catches my eye: It’s a bright green Harley-Davidson shirt that was his favorite. The collar is faded, plus it has a few holes in it and a bleach stain on one sleeve. I smile, remembering when I accidentally got that bleach on the shirt. I thought for sure he would be so mad, but he just shrugged and said, “Now I’ll always think of you when I see it.” I hold the shirt in my lap for a moment, considering keeping it, but I know that’s not what my heart wants. I’ll always carry every single memory and moment of Dean with me, but it’s time I let the physical memories go.

I’m building a new life with Ranger, and while I know he would never for one second be jealous of those memories or tokens from my past with Dean, it’s not fair to myself and to us to hold on. I smile, folding the shirt again and placing it back in the box.

“It’s time someone else makes their own memories in these clothes,” I say to myself as I refold the lid. I push the box aside, making a mental note to have the guys put them in the donation pile.

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