Bachelor Doctor

There were times when she wished she actually were the inanimate object Trey Weldon considered her to be. It would be so much easier—on her nerves, on her senses. The warm strength of his fingers on her skin evoked sensations that were hopelessly, girlishly romantic. And embarrassing because it was all so futile.

Sometimes, alone in bed in the darkness of her room at night, Callie pondered the irony of the situation. That she—who had always been so sensible and practical, who’d never suffered any hopeless, girlish, embarrassing yearnings, not even as an adolescent, when almost everybody else did—would be struck with this acute crush at the mature age of twenty-six.

The situation appalled her. She had a crush on her boss! Worse, she was a nurse with a crush on a doctor. Might as well throw in their class differences too; the proletarian yearning for the lord of the manor. A triple cliché, and she was living it. What unparalleled humiliation! Especially since her crush was entirely unrequited.

Callie refused to kid herself, to even pretend that Trey gave her a thought outside the operating room. Of course he didn’t. And though she continually fought her feelings for him, his touch and his penetrating stare affected her viscerally.

There didn’t seem to be anything she could do about that, but she could keep it her most-closely guarded secret. Which she had, quite successfully.

No one, especially not Trey, ever had to know about the sweet, syrupy warmth that flowed through her at his slightest touch. Nor would she ever reveal the sharp ache that sometimes threatened to bring her to her knees when his deep-blue eyes looked into hers.

Except right now those blue eyes of his were hard and cold with anger. If any stare could freeze a hapless recipient into a human Popsicle, it would be the one Trey was directing at her at this moment.

Callie met and held his eyes, a sheer act of will on her part. And not at all easy because Trey Weldon had perfected—or maybe he’d naturally been gifted with—the art of nonverbal intimidation. Not that he was a slouch in the verbal intimidation department, either.

But Callie never crumbled or froze in response to Trey’s ire, verbal or non. Because she knew that Trey expected her to be as tough and unemotional as he was himself? Because she knew he needed her to be that way?

Callie nearly groaned aloud. She was doing it again, seeking evidence that Trey Weldon thought of her as something more than merely a set of rubber-gloved hands assisting him in the OR.

“I expect better from you, Sheely.” Trey glared at her in the coldly unnerving way that had reduced other recipients to tears.

But not Callie. She had once overheard him tell Leo, “Sheely is tough. She’s the only woman I’ve ever worked with who’s never cried. Not a tear, not once.”

It was untrue, of course, further proof of how little he knew about her. She’d wept over their saddest cases, her heart breaking for the devastated families of patients unable to be saved, even by Trey Weldon’s formidable skills.

But she’d never cried in front of Trey Weldon, not a tear, not once. Callie knew Trey’s remark to Leo was a high compliment indeed, and she intended to keep her record of tearlessness in his company intact.

“The patients deserve better from you, Sheely,” snarled Trey. “They deserve your best, and when you put anything else ahead of—”

“I put nothing ahead of our patients’ well-being. They get the best that I have to give, Dr. Weldon.” Callie tried to match his cold tones but couldn’t. His particular way of expressing anger through iciness was unique to him.

Which didn’t mean she couldn’t communicate her own anger in her own way. Nothing, nothing infuriated her more than to have her commitment to her patients and to her job disparaged. To have her professionalism questioned.

And for Trey Weldon to do so…when she’d worked so hard for him, for their patients… Callie let her own fury displace the hurt that sliced through her, deep and sharp.

Her voice rose, and her dark eyes blazed, her rage as hot as his was cold. “And as for Scott Fritche, he was simply nervous today, Dr. Weldon. Fritche is in his first year of neurosurgery, he is inexperienced and he was suddenly expected to perform in front of an audience of—”

“Stop making excuses for him, Sheely!” Trey cut in. He held her glare. “It’s unacceptable.”

Neither bothered to blink. Or to move. They stood locked in their own world, anything and everyone else excluded.

Callie pulled off her surgical cap and threw it into a tall laundry bin. Her ponytail, which had been stuffed inside the cap, tumbled free, the ends swiping the nape of her neck.

If you lose your temper, you lose. One of her dad’s adages popped into Callie’s head. Too late. She’d gone ahead and lost her temper, anyway. Now she might as well go for broke.

“Unacceptable?” she huffed. “So are you going to fire me?” It was a dare, a challenge. Callie held her breath.

“Here we go again!” Leo heaved a dramatic groan. He and Quiana had moved closer, the better to listen to every word that passed between Trey and Callie. “It’s like seeing a rerun on TV for the four hundredth time—you know every word of the dialogue. C’mon Quiana, let’s get some lunch.”

“Might as well,” agreed Quiana.

The two exited the lounge, heading for the cafeteria.

“The four hundredth time?” Trey looked bewildered.

“Not even close,” murmured Callie, a pale pink flush staining her cheeks.

Okay, she hadn’t gone for broke, she silently conceded. When she felt Trey was being insufferably imperious, she would respond by getting mad and inviting him to fire her.

The first time, it had just slipped out, and she’d waited in agony, expecting him to fire her outright. But he hadn’t, and then she’d said it again—and again and again—and by now she pretty much knew Trey wouldn’t fire her. Was absolutely sure of it, in fact.

But she hadn’t said it four hundred times!

“No, I am not going to fire you, but—” Trey broke off, suddenly looking almost comically astonished. “So that’s what Leo meant when he was talking about seeing a rerun for the four hundredth time and knowing the dialogue. He was talking about that ‘going to fire me?’ habit of yours.”

“Duh,” Callie muttered darkly. Trey would have to pick right now to finally decipher one of Leo’s stupid jokes. “And it’s not a habit. Leo overexaggerates.”

“Not this time, he didn’t. It’s true. You practically dare me to fire you, Sheely. Did it ever occur to you that sometime I might say yes and just go ahead and do it?”

“Oh, maybe the first three hundred times.” Callie was sarcastic. “But the last hundred times or so, I felt my job was safe enough.”

Trey’s dark brows narrowed. “Nobody talks to me the way you do, Sheely.”

“Is that a threat?” Callie squared her shoulders and lifted her head, trying to make herself as tall and formidable as possible. Unfortunately her five-foot, four-inch frame remained dwarfed by Trey.

“Don’t go nuclear, Sheely, it wasn’t a threat. It was simply a statement of fact. Nobody around here talks to me the way you do.”

“Well, no wonder.” She folded her arms in front of her chest in classic defensive position. Just because she had a crush on him didn’t mean she would permit herself to be crushed by him.

“You’re practically a god around here. Nobody can believe you actually chose to come to Pittsburgh when you could’ve gone to any hospital in the country. Needless to say, without exception, people speak reverently to you.”

“It seems that Leo isn’t the only one on this team who overexaggerates.” Trey looked irked. “And maybe you can explain why Pittsburghers are forever apologizing for the city. Why do they feel the need to put it down, especially if a nonnative says something complimentary about the place? Which brings us to, Why wouldn’t I actually choose to come here, Sheely?”

“Why would you choose Pittsburgh’s Tri-State Medical Center when you could’ve gone to Johns Hopkins or Mass General or Duke or places equally prestigious? Is that a rhetorical question or am I supposed to answer it?”

“You see, you just did it again!” Trey exclaimed. “Another putdown of your hometown. What’s with you Pittsburghers?”

“We don’t like bragging, so we don’t embellish. We simply state the facts—which is what I was doing,” retorted Callie. “You went to medical school at Duke and did your surgical residency at Johns Hopkins, then on to Mass General for your neurosurgery residency and fellowship. You could write your own ticket anywhere. Why would you come to—”

“Don’t forget to mention my exclusive New England prep school and my undergraduate bioengineering degree from MIT, Sheely.”

“Which enables you to custom design the surgical instruments that you—” Callie broke off and stared at him. “You were being ironically droll.”

“And that makes you gape?”

“More drollery?”

“Ah, your jaw drops even farther.”

“All right, I admit I’m stunned. For your to joke about your hallowed credentials is something like hearing a saint wisecracking about divinity.”

“Sheely,” he paused and frowned. “Don’t put me on a pedestal.” She had the usual misconception about the blueness of his blood, Trey realized, and her next words confirmed it.

“I don’t have to, you’re already up there. I expect you were born there—and you’re well aware of it, too.”

A man like Trey Weldon, brilliant, handsome, successful—a man like that, who had it all, had to be aware of his status, his desirability. And not only neurosurgically speaking. He was one of the most eligible bachelors in the city—in the entire state of Pennsylvania, not to mention his own native state of Virginia!

Callie herself had seen how women here at the hospital practically threw themselves at his feet. She and Leo and Quiana enjoyed countless jokes about that. At least, Leo and Quiana enjoyed the jokes. Callie’s laughter rang hollow in her own ears. Worse, she could only imagine how very sought-after Trey was in exalted social circles, far removed from the hospital grounds.

She took another long look at his bare chest, and fury abruptly flared within her. “And we aren’t in a…a gym!” she snapped. “Put on your shirt. Please,” she added, because, after all, she was talking to her boss.

Trey picked up the scrub shirt he’d dropped onto a chair and pulled it over his head, inside out. “I’m not following.” He gave an exasperated huff. “What on earth are we talking about now, Sheely?”

Scowling, he ran his hand over his brown hair, a dark-chestnut shade, always cut short for practical and hygenic reasons.

Callie caught herself wondering if his hair felt as thick and springy as it looked. It took a moment for her to remember what they’d been talking about. “We’re discussing your beyond-impeccable credentials,” she said edgily.

Trey gave a wave of his hand, visibly impatient. “Let’s get back to the real subject at hand, Sheely.”

Callie proceeded to describe in detail each of Scott Fritche’s minor but time-consuming mistakes. “It’s not an enormous deal, Trey, though Leo’s done his best to make you think it is. We’ve both watched other residents, with more experience than Scott Fritche, do far worse with no unfavorable results. So you see—”

“What I see is that Arkis and Turner were right. You really did save Fritche’s ass in there, Sheely. Not to mention our poor patient’s cranium.” Trey folded his arms in front of his chest, but the gesture wasn’t a defensive one for him.

Oh, yes, he was infinitely gifted in the body language of intimidation. However, Callie wasn’t intimidated. Instead, observing the way his muscles rippled when he moved his arms, studying the breadth of his shoulders, she was…aroused.

She was practically ogling him! Callie caught herself and quickly averted her gaze, fixing it on the poster tacked up on the wall beyond him.

It was an advertisement for the Hospital Auxiliary’s Annual Springtime Ball, a popular fund-raiser held in early April, when the region’s weather was still more like winter than spring, despite the calendar.

Unlike those charity balls sponsored by exclusive women’s clubs, where the price of admission was astronomically high, thus limiting the guests to the social elite, the Tri-State Hospital’s auxiliary set aside a large block of tickets at lower prices, affordable to the hospital staff.

Everybody from student nurses to interns and residents, from the hospital administrators and lordly attending physicians to various corporate benefactors, politicos and the local pillars of society, attended the Springtime Ball. Somehow, the eclectic mix worked. Each year the ball topped the previous one’s record for ticket sales and attendance.

Callie had gone every year since nursing school. Often with Jimmy, sometimes with other escorts, always friends. This year she’d made no plans to attend. She couldn’t seem to work up any enthusiasm for going.

Her eyes darted to Trey. He was glaring at her.

“Sheely, if it isn’t too much trouble, could you stop drifting off and at least make a pretense of staying on topic? That would be Scott Fritche who endangered my patient in the OR. Remember?”

Callie’s eyes, dark as onyx, grew round as saucers. “The patient wasn’t endangered, honestly.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and took a deep breath. “I was right there, Trey, I knew what to do. Of course, I would’ve called for you the second before anything could have gone wrong.”

Trey straightened, looking even taller to her. “You know I expect my team to be like cogs in a perfectly run machine, Sheely. We simply can’t afford any mistakes and we can’t succumb to—”

“I know. And woe to the cog that slips, even slightly. Leo and Quiana and I—”

“This isn’t about you three, I know how good you are. You’re the best in the area. I watched you for six months before handpicking you myself for my team. But Fritche is another story entirely. If he’s no good, we’ve got to get him out of the neurosurgery program sooner rather than later, before he does irreparable harm.”

“Trey, before we go any further with this, maybe you should know that Leo holds a personal grudge against Scott Fritche. I don’t think I’d be exaggerating to say that if Leo could hurt Scott, he would. Oh, not physically. But he’d certainly settle for doing damage to Scott’s career.”

“Why?”

“Because Scott Fritche dated and then dumped Leo’s cousin Melina. She’s a student nurse here at the med center and was heartbroken when—”

“Sheely, this is not an episode of General Hospital. Please spare me the details of who’s dating and dumping who. I’m only interested in the welfare of my patients, and right now I’m trying to ascertain whether—”

“All right. Fine,” Callie said coldly. “Never mind gathering all the facts and coming to an informed conclusion. It’s clear that you’ve already made up your mind.”

“Sheely, you are—”

“I’m tired of talking about this,” Callie said, boldly cutting him off.

She turned and stalked from the lounge.

“Sheely, come back here.”

She ignored his command and stormed inside the empty women’s locker room. Mercifully, it had not gone the unisex route like the lounge. Each sex still had separate quarters to shower and change clothes.

Moments later a tall, pretty blond nurse joined Callie in an aisle of lockers, by the long bench positioned in the middle. “Sheely, Trey Weldon wants me to tell you that he has to talk to you. He said ‘right now.”’

Jennifer Olsen had been in the class behind her in Tri-State’s nursing school and currently worked in the obstetrics clinic, surrounded by expectant mothers. Jennifer made no secret of her ultimate goal, which was to have her own baby as soon as possible. Her more immediate goal, however, was to find a suitable man to marry and impregnate her. Preferably a doctor, with a sizable income.

At the same moment Callie wondered what Jennifer was doing up here in the women’s surgical locker room, Jennifer must’ve felt obliged to explain her presence.

“I came up to see if Karen wanted to go to the Squirrel Den tonight. There’s a bunch of us going.”

Callie knew Karen Kaminsky, an OR nurse who’d graduated in Jennifer’s class. “You must’ve missed her. She’s probably at lunch.”

“Oh. Hey, Sheely, you come to the Squirrel Den tonight, too, if you want, okay?”

Callie pictured the Squirrel Den, a relic from the city’s industrial dark age, a dank, smoky, gloomy place jammed with cheap old tables and booths. “Uh, thanks, Jen. I’ll try to make it,” she said politely. I just won’t try very hard, she added to herself.

“Sheely, about Trey Weldon, he—”

Callie sighed. “Tell him you didn’t see me in here, Jennifer.”

“But this place is too small for me not to see you. I wouldn’t want to lie to the man.”

“Certainly not,” Callie murmured dourly.

Without a doubt Trey’s credentials met, even exceeded, all of Jennifer’s requirements in a potential husband and father. Too bad, Jen, Callie thought darkly, you don’t fulfill the prerequisites for Weldon class status any more than I do.

Callie sucked in her cheeks and pointed at the window high above the lockers. “You can tell him I flew out that window on my broomstick. He probably thinks I’m capable of it. All I have to do is swap my surgical cap for my tall, pointy, black hat.”

“The doctor is always right, and when the nurse doesn’t agree, she’s a witch, hmm?” Jennifer was sympathetic.

“Exactly. Just a doctor-nurse disagreement. It’s nothing personal.” Callie felt the need to stress that.

Although a little voice in her head pointed out that she was taking her inability to influence Trey in the Scott Fritche matter very personally, Callie instructed the little voice to shut up.

“Well, since he’s waiting out there, I guess I ought to go tell him something.” Jennifer lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Sheely, rumors fly around here, but I’ve never heard any about you and Trey Weldon. Still, I’ll come right out and ask, and I hope you won’t take offense. Are you two involved?”

“In what? A blood feud? No, not yet.”

Jennifer giggled. “You know what I mean, Sheely. Are you and he, um, romantically involved?”

“No.” Callie’s heart lurched wildly. She would’ve liked to toss off a breezy quip about Trey being surgically gifted yet disabled in the art of romance, but the words stuck in her throat.

Because of the disturbing thoughts that flooded her mind.

For all she knew, Trey actually could be one of the world’s great romantics, passionate, sensitive and thoughtful—yet extremely discreet. Possibly, he kept that part of his life so secretive that only the woman who was the object of his desire knew that side of him.

What would it be like, to know that there was a deeply secret, romantic side of Trey? Oh, what she’d give to know!

Thoroughly flustered, Callie forgot to breathe, and then had to inhale sharply.

“Sheely?” Jennifer’s voice seemed to come from some other dimension. “Would you happen to know if Trey is going to the Springtime Ball?”

Callie jerked to attention. She was the one in the other dimension, a foolish one called fantasyland. Jen’s voice came from the real world, and Callie’s return to it was sharp and complete.

She heaved a small sigh. She was pathetic. Her hot, Trey fantasy, coupled with Jennifer’s query about Trey and the big dance, was so junior high school she wouldn’t be surprised to hear the bell ringing to change classes.

“I don’t know, Jennifer. He hasn’t mentioned the Springtime Ball.”

“I know it’s late, the ball is only two weeks away, but the guy I was going to go with had to cancel. He’s a lawyer and has some stupid conference that just came up.” Jennifer added quickly.

“I hate it when that happens.” Callie tried to sound sympathetic.

“And I already have a dress and I don’t want Joshua to think I’ll be sitting at home that night because he can’t make it. Maybe I’ll just go ahead and ask Trey Weldon to the dance. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know.” Jennifer smiled, a nothing-ventured-nothing-gained kind of smile.

Callie suppressed the urge to grimace. She fumbled with her locker combination, hitting the wrong number, having to start over again.

“See you later, Sheely,” Jennifer called brightly, gliding out of the locker room.

Callie yanked the top of her scrub suit over her head, while dropping the pants to the floor. The suit was at least three sizes too big for her.

“Don’t think you can hide in there and sulk, Sheely. You are going to listen to me.”

“Trey, Dr. Weldon, you can’t go in there!”

Callie heard the locker-room door open and slam hard against the tiled wall. She heard Trey’s voice, angry and frustrated, followed by Jennifer’s high-pitched protest.

But it happened so fast, in just a split second, that she didn’t have time to process all the information until Trey was standing directly in front of her.

And she was standing in front of her locker, clad only in her white cotton bra and panties.

Trey seemed to freeze in place. Callie gasped and reached for her scrub top. She instinctively held it in front of her, shielding herself from his startled blue eyes.

Jennifer shrieked.

Two

Trey remained stock-still, as if he’d been turned to stone. It felt that way. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak.

He especially could not divert his gaze from Callie. So he just stood there, staring at her, watching as she snatched the scrub pants from the floor to hold them in front of her for additional cover.

But her alluring image already had been seared in his brain. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the smooth bare skin of her belly, her legs, her breasts. Her belly was flat, her navel intriguingly deep; her legs were shapely, slender and well toned, her breasts pleasingly full.

Amazing how much detail he’d managed to absorb in those few burning moments.

He could accurately visualize her bra and panties, too, pristine white cotton, quite modestly cut. Plain, functional and practical underwear, the polar opposite of those sensual confections labeled lingerie, the stuff that was supposed to inspire male fantasies.

It seemed that Trey needed no such inspiration. Simply the sight of Callie Sheely in her serviceable underwear sent a shock wave of arousal through him so fast that within moments his body was hot and hard.

Instinctively he took a step closer to her.

“Trey, just in case you haven’t noticed, you’re in the women’s locker room,” Callie informed him through gritted teeth.

Trey’s eyes widened and he was suddenly aware of the hyena-like screeching in the background. He cast a quick glance at the blond nurse, then looked back at Callie.

And blinked. “What?”

Callie groaned. “I feel like I’m trapped in an especially stupid episode of a very bad sitcom. I would’ve never thought you were capable of looking dim, but somehow you’ve nailed that ‘huh?’ the scene requires.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” growled Trey, gathering his wits. It took longer than expected, and he blamed the surreal atmosphere. “I don’t watch much TV and I certainly don’t waste my time on bad sitcoms. And why would anyone bother to watch an especially stupid episode of anything?”