Southern Pleasure (Southern Heart 1)

Stepping into my office, I shut the door and take a seat at the desk. Cell phone in hand, I swipe the screen, find the family attorney’s number, and hit send.

My call goes to voicemail. “Mr. Fields, hi, Evan Chamberlin. Listen, I have an urgent matter that was just brought to my attention, which I will need your services for. When you get this message, please give me a call.” I don’t bother leaving my number; he has it. Mr. Fields has been my grandparents’ attorney for years. When I took over the farm, I continued that relationship.

I find Misty still standing by the window. Being so lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t hear me approach. I bite back the panic that she’s changed her mind. I squeeze my cell phone a little tighter, willing it to ring. I need to get these papers drawn up and signed before she does.

“Ready?”

She startles a little from the sound of my voice. Turning to look at me, her face is void of any emotion. It’s just . . . blank. “Yeah,” is all she says as she grabs her purse and walks toward the door. Mutely, I follow behind, locking up. She ambles to my truck and gets in the passenger side. At least she’s not trying to get out of this.

The twenty-minute drive is uneventful. We don’t speak except for me asking which office she goes to. The silence is welcome. I’m still raging mad at the thought of her “taking care of it,” even though I’m relieved she’s agreed to sign all rights over to me.

As soon as I put the truck in park, Misty is climbing out and heading toward the door. I catch up just in time to reach around her to open it. She says nothing as we walk inside and I follow her to the receptionist’s desk. I don’t know if she has health insurance, but I need to make sure they know all bills should come to me.

“Good afternoon, how can I help you?” asks the chipper girl sitting behind the desk.

“Misty Newman here for my appointment with Dr. Combs.” Her tone is flat.

“Great, let’s see. It says here you have Medical Mutual for insurance coverage. Is that still in effect?” the receptionist inquires nicely.

“That’s correct,” she answers.

“Can you please make sure anything not covered by insurance is billed to me? My name is Evan Chamberlin.” The overly-friendly receptionist looks to Misty for guidance, who she nods her head. I rattle off my address.

“I’ve got everything I need. You can have a seat and they’ll be with you shortly,” she chirps.

Misty doesn’t acknowledge her as she turns and walks away. I smile at the receptionist, trying to cover for Misty’s rudeness. Her blinding smile in return lets me know she’s used to it.

I take a seat next to Misty and pull out my phone. Opening my email, I see a message from Mr. Fields. He’s in court, but will call as soon as he gets a break. I reply that I will be unavailable for the next hour or so, but any time after that, no matter the time, he can call. I don’t want to delay getting her signature.

“Misty,” a short blonde nurse calls her name from the door leading back to the exam rooms. As Misty strolls toward her, I follow behind like a puppy. “You can wait in exam room three while we get her weight,” the nurse tells me. I nod, letting her know I understand, and take a seat in one of the empty chairs next to the exam table. Misty and the nurse join me not a minute later.

“Climb up on the exam table. I need to take your vitals.” She proceeds to take Misty’s blood pressure, temperature, and pulse. She then hands her a cup. “We need a urine sample. Leave the cup in the silver door behind the toilet. The doctor will be in shortly.”

“I’ve already been here and taken a test. Why do I need another one?” Misty asks. Her voice is flat, uncaring.

“Yes, we will do this at each visit to check the levels in your urine.” The nurse smiles and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.

Misty grumbles under her breath as she, too, leaves the room. Leaning over, I rest my elbows on my knees and bury my face in my hands. My world has been flipped upside down in the last two hours. I’m going to be a father.

A single father.

Misty comes back into the room, and this time, the doctor follows her in. “You must be dad? I’m Dr. Combs.” He extends his hand for me to shake.

“Yes, sir,” I respond. I’m going to be a father. I swallow the lump in the back of my throat.

Dr. Combs takes a seat on a stool and opens his laptop. After a minute or so of scrolling and clicking, he looks up. “Misty, vitals look good. Weight is the same as last visit. Make sure you’re eating three full meals a day. It’s good to add a healthy snack in between. You’re eating for two now,” he grins.

Misty just stares at him.

“Right, well, you’re eight weeks along and sometimes at this point we can hear the heartbeat. Lie back on the table and lift your shirt.”

She does as instructed, still showing no emotion. Me, on the other hand, I feel like my heart is about to throb out of my chest. “We can really do that? We can hear the heartbeat?” I question. Even I can hear the excitement in my voice.

“Sure can. Eight weeks is sometimes a little early, so don’t be alarmed if we can’t. Most definitely by your next appointment,” he explains.

Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I don’t bother looking at Misty. I know she’s wearing that same bland expression, and I will not let her take this moment from me. Instead, I keep my eyes trained on Dr. Combs. I watch as he pulls out a tiny device he calls a Doppler and places one end against Misty’s belly. As he gently moves it back and forth, I hold my breath, not willing to make a sound; I don’t want to miss this. He moves the machine a little to the left and a whooshing sound encompassed with a steady thumping rhythm comes from the box in the physician’s hand. I exhale at the sound, and the lump in my throat grows along with the well of tears in my eyes.

Hearing that sound for the first time is going down as the most amazing moment in my life to date. “Holy shit.” The croaked words fall from my lips.