Читать книгу Bachelor Doctor - Barbara Boswell, Barbara Boswell - Страница 7
One
ОглавлениеOperating room one was crowded with observers watching Dr. Trey Weldon, neurosurgeon extraordinaire, at work. The patientâs condition had been deemed hopeless until his referral to Dr. Weldon, who had offered a ray of hope in a daring yet promising experimental procedure developed by the gifted surgeon himself.
âItâs mobbed in here today,â a wide-eyed medical student murmured to no one in particular. âThis is the hottest show in the entire med center. Everybody wants to observe the master at work.â
âYeah. Dr. Weldon rules!â enthused another awestruck med student.
âQuiet!â A nursing student reprimanded the pair. âDr. Weldon is speaking.â The name was said with hushed reverence.
Dr. Trey Weldon, in the midst of explaining the intricacies of AVMs or arteriovenous malformationsâtangled or malformed arteries or veins in the brain that over time became dilated, exerting pressure or burstingâoverheard the students and automatically lifted his eyes to meet the eyes of his chief scrub nurse, Callie Sheely.
Their gazes connected for only a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for Trey to see a flash of humor light those big dark eyes of hers. He knew she had overheard the students, too, knew that she was smiling beneath her surgical mask.
His lips twisted into a smile behind his own mask. Heâd known Callie would find the studentsâ overexaggerated hype as amusing as he did.
There had been a time, not very long ago, when he wouldnât have seen the humor in such remarks. Of course, he wouldnât have considered the studentsâ adulation to be overexaggerated hype, either. Over the years he had grown so accustomed to lavish praise that he simply accepted it as a given.
Until Callie Sheely. From her heâd come to view certain thingsâlike extravagant complimentsâfrom a different angle. Trey thought back to that fateful time heâd spied Callie grinning in the background while some junior colleagues expressed their excessive admiration of him, to him.
When he asked her about it later, sheâd snickered, unrepentant. It amused her to hear people fawn over him, sheâd said. Listening to his minions try to outdo each other while shoveling theâ¦praise, invariably gave her a hearty chuckle.
Minions? Shoveling? Trey well remembered his own astonishment at her frankness. No one had ever made such a remark to him before, and only Callie Sheely continued to make similar impertinent jests about him, to him.
But instead of being irkedâTrey admittedly didnât tolerate frivolity or nonsense very wellâhe had found himself seeing the humor. Sharing her amusement.
âOf course, they genuinely do admire you,â sheâd also assured him, and Trey had found himself snickering, a rare event in itself. As a rule he did not snicker.
However, Callieâs warm assertion had touched a humorous, previously unstruck, chord within him. As if he cared whether he was admired by junior toadies, as if he needed anyoneâs assurance about anything! The very idea was laughable.
And now whenever anyone laid on the compliments or the hero worship a tad too thick, he looked at Callie, and they would share a silent, mutual moment of mirth.
Trey continued performing the operation, explaining the procedure to his audience while he worked, all the while contemplating Callie Sheelyâs irreverence toward his lordly reputation.
He had been blessed with the ability to think and do several different things simultaneously, while keeping each separate and exact. It was a gift he took for granted, having always possessed it.
He flicked his finger slightly, and Callie immediately handed him what he wanted, a small sharp scalpel, an instrument heâd redesigned and then had reduced to near doll-size for certain specific uses, todayâs operation being one of them.
He rarely had to ask Callie for instruments during an operation, not unless an unforeseen complication occurred and he had to improvise on the spot.
Otherwise, she routinely remembered which one was used for what from previous operations, and when he was going to try something new, he would go over the procedure with her beforehand, taking her through it step by step. She filed away what he told her in her head, using the information to expertly assist him.
Trey admired her excellent memory and OR nursing skills as much as he did her unruffled calm under pressure. He had never worked so well with anyone before, never been so in sync with another person as he was with Callie Sheely during surgery. While in the OR, it was as if she were an extension of himself.
It was new to him, this kind of intuitive rapport. Certainly it had never existed in his personal life and still didnât. Yet here in the OR he and Callie were as one, working together in uncommon unity and intimacy.
He lifted his gaze to meet Callieâs again. She had the most beautiful, expressive eyes heâd ever seen, a dark liquid velvet glowing with warmth and intelligence, alert with liveliness andâ
âAny questions?â Trey deliberately interrupted his own reverie.
Lately, renegade thoughts about Callie Sheely seemed to strike him more and more frequently. Whether in the OR or alone in his apartment or chatting with colleagues anytime, anywhere, random images of Callie Sheely would suddenly pop into his head. He would find himself drifting off on a mental riff, mulling over her memory, her eyes, her humor.
Such thoughts had no place in a professional relationship, Trey reminded himself. And a professional relationship was the only type he and Callie Sheely had. The only kind of relationship they would ever have, and that was the way he wanted it, the way it had to be.
Still, his unexpected musings were beginning to bother him. After all, Trey Weldonâs finely honed mind did not drift into unfitting flights of fancy.
Except lately, when it did. And inevitably the disconcerting drift was Callie Sheely inspired.
âI repeat, any questions?â He heard the impatient edge in his tone.
Well, he was impatient, though not really with the students who remained silent, perhaps intimidated.
âSo I can assume that everybody perfectly understands everything there is to know about AVMs and this procedure?â It was a short step from impatience to sarcasm, and Trey couldnât resist taking it.
At last one of the med students dutifully piped up with a question. True, it was a stupid question, but then the kid was merely a student. Trey took pity on him and proceeded to answer in painstaking detail.
He determinedly put aside any more thoughts about Callie Sheelyâs eyes. He refused to think about her marvelous memory or her invaluable OR skills, either. He particularly refused to ponder their intuitive rapport and the way her sense of humor had somehow infected him.
She was not getting under his skin, Trey assured himself.
They were colleagues. They worked together, nothing more. They werenât even friends, because friends socialized outside the workplace, and he and Callie Sheely never saw each other except in the workplace.
And that was the way he liked it, the way he wanted it to be.
No, she was not getting under his skin.
Chief OR scrub nurse Callie Sheely listened to every word of Trey Weldonâs comprehensive explanation. As always the mellifluous timbre of his voice stirred her. Only Trey could sound seductive while discussing the complexities of AVMs and their variations, along with inventive ways to repair them.
Callie watched him work, anticipating what he would do next and what surgical instrument he would need, his voice keeping her focused even as it enthralled her. Excited her. Trey Weldon had the sexiest voice sheâd ever heard, deep and masculine, mesmerizing, with just the slightest hint of an upper-class Virginia drawl.
If only he sounded like Elmer Fudd, she lamented wistfully. As a diversion Callie tried to imagine Elmer pronouncing arteriovenous. She had to do something to decrease the sensual effect Treyâs voice had on her.
It just wasnât fair! Not only was her boss good-looking, brilliant and talented, but he had a voice that could net him a fortune doing romance-hero readings for books on tape. And she had to listen to it, to him, by the hour and was expected to remain completely immune to him and his powerful allure.
After all, Callie knew the rules. She was Treyâs coworker, his subordinate, actually, and she knew that was the only way Trey Weldon saw her. Would ever see her.
She viewed their situation as comparable to characters in the old Greek myths, which sheâd enjoyed reading as a child on her biweekly trips to the Carnegie library. In those myths, gods who dwelt high in Mount Olympus did not consort with ordinary mortals. Just as upper-class scions like Trey Weldon didnât socialize with working-class nurses from Pittsburgh. Like Callie Sheely.
Ancient and fanciful they might be, but those myths taught a necessary counterlesson to the fairy tales that Callie had also devoured as a child. In fairy tales, a scullery maid might land a prince, but not in real life.
Real life meant sticking with your own kind. Otherwise the result was culture clash, not romance.
Callie suppressed a sigh, wishing that Trey would lapse into silence so the music could be cranked up to full volume. The OR team took turns choosing what was to be played, and todayâs choice had been Quiana Turnerâs, the circulating nurse. That meant sassy girl singers, lively and loud and brimming with attitude, just what Callie needed to hear.
But Trey continued to explain what he was doing to the students, and Callie listened and watched as he skillfully wielded the tiny scalpel sheâd handed him.
His technique was flawless. As always she was awed by his incredible dexterity, his seemingly effortless expertise. To use such a tiny instrument so effectively in one of the most crucial parts of the brain was true genius. She never tired of watching him perform.
Nobody else did, either. To say that Dr. Trey Weldon, Tri-State Medical Centerâs extraordinarily gifted neurosurgeon, was respected by his peers, by his lesser colleagues, by the establishment powers that be and everybody else, was a pallid understatement.
Trey Weldon was a star, a âsurgical supernovaâ to quote a dazzled science reporter from the local Pittsburgh newspaper. The article exalted Treyâs operating prowess and his impressive credentials, also mentioning the determination of the medical centerâs administrators to recruit him eighteen months ago.
Callie had saved that article and read it from time to time, particularly when she felt herself in danger of forgetting just how far she wasâand would always beâfrom Trey Weldonâs world. Beginning, appropriately enough, with their origins.
The Weldon family descended from landed gentry in colonial Virginia, whose fortune had been made generations ago while Callieâs forebears were still trying to eke out a living as peasants in the old country. And though different backgrounds often didnât matter, Callie knew bloodlines meant a lot to the aristocratic Weldon family.
It would certainly matter to them that her blood was the wrong shade of blueâthat is, blue-collar blue. She just knew it would, from what sheâd gleaned from that newspaper article and some of the casual comments made by Trey himself.
The son of Winston and Laura Weldonâsheâd learned his parentsâ names from the article, tooâhad nothing socially in common with her, the daughter of Jack and Nancy Sheely, whose grandparents had left poverty in Ireland and Russia to live in poverty in Pittsburgh. Their brave move and hard work had eventually paid off for their children and grandchildren, but high society they werenât.
The Weldons were and had been Southern aristocracy for a couple of centuries.
âHolding up okay?â Treyâs inquiry nearly startled Callie into dropping a gauze sponge. Thankfully, her reflexes were too sharp to permit such a lapse.
âMe?â she murmured, trying to suppress her astonishment.
Trey had ceased lecturing and was asking her a personal question. If she was holding up okay. That had never happened before.
Sheâd been with him in surgery for nine or ten hours straight without him once mentioning thirst, hunger, sore musclesâor even the need for a bathroom break. He didnât acknowledge such mundane concerns, for himself or others.
âSheely?â he prompted, and his brow furrowed with what might have been concern.
âIâm fine,â she said quickly. But she was perplexed by his unusual solicitousness. Did she look ready to drop or something? Or to drop something? He wouldnât like that!
âHonest,â she added quickly.
Trey nodded his head and went on operating.
While others withered around him, Trey Weldon just kept on going.
âTo watch Trey Weldon operate on a brain is to experience a virtuoso at the top of his game,â Jimmy Dimarino, a first-year general surgery residentâand on some days an aspiring neurosurgeon himselfâoften enthused to Callie.
Jimmy tried to attend as many of Dr. Weldonâs operations as he could, badgering Callie for scheduling information. As the chief scrub nurse on Trey Weldonâs handpicked OR team for the past twelve months, Callie knew what procedure was slated and when; she was also privy to the emergency schedule.
She shared the inside scoop with Jimmy because they went way back, to the bad old days of elementary school when theyâd lived next door to each other. Somehow their relationship had survived a brief eighth-grade romance, too. These days, Jimmyâs long-term fondness for Callie had been elevated to outright admirationâdue in large part to her access to Dr. Trey Weldon.
âThe AVM has been repaired,â Trey announced. âWe were able to avoid any undue disturbance of the surrounding brain tissue, so the patientâs recovery ought to be swift and unremarkable.â
He made it sound like a decree that would naturally be obeyed. Callie smiled behind her surgical mask, then lifted her eyes to see Trey looking directly at her.
For one seemingly endless moment, time stood still as their gazes met and held.
And then: âFritche, close,â Trey ordered with a nod toward one of the residents. He moved away from the table amidst murmurs of praise and appreciation, even a smattering of applause.
Scott Fritche, a first-year neurosurgical resident, stepped up to close, a task often given to underlings to further their experience.
Callie stayed where she was, assisting Scott Fritche, handing him the necessary instruments, sponges and sutures, subtly guiding him, before he needed to ask for anything.
Sheâd worked with Fritche a few times before, during his general-surgery residency, preceding this one, before she had become a permanent member of Treyâs team. But she didnât remember Fritche being quite as ham-handed as he was today.
âI swear it took Fritche longer to close than for Trey to perform the entire operation,â complained Quiana Turner, as she and Callie trooped out of the OR, tugging off their masks.
Callie smiled at Quianaâs exaggeration. âWeâve gotten spoiled, working with Trey,â she conceded. âHeâs a tough act for anybody to follow, let alone a resident.â
âFritche sure isnât the hotshot he thinks he is,â Leo Arkis said, sneering.
Leo did the advance OR work for the Weldon team and also served as backup relief to Callie or Quiana when necessary. âCould that clod have done any worse in there, messing up sutures and dropping sponges like a flower girl tossing rose petals at a wedding?â
âThatâs kind of harsh, Leo. Fritche wasnât all that bad,â chided Callie. âHeâs inexperienced and he was nervous butââ
âI wish weâd called Trey back in to watch that jerk at work,â Leo cut in. âIt wouldâve been a kick seeing the icy wrath of our boss freeze Fritche into a human Popsicle.â
Callie arched her dark brows. âLeo, I know how you feel about Fritche, but ratting on him to Trey isââ
She broke off in midsentence because Dr. Trey Weldon stood in the middle of the newly renovated lounge, which the trio had just entered.
He was pulling his scrub shirt over his head.
The sight of him stopped Callie in her tracks, rendering her speechless. Trey tossed the shirt aside and stood bare-chested, the strong, well-defined muscles of his chest and shoulders revealed in the fluorescent glow of the overhead lights. His green scrub pants rode low on his waist, displaying the flat belly, a deep-set navel and a sprinkling of dark, wiry hair arrowing downward.
In the year that sheâd been working on his team, Callie had seen Trey Weldon in scrubs too many times to count. But she hadnât seen what lay beneath them. Until this moment.
Her mouth was suddenly quite dry.
âGod bless this new unisex lounge,â murmured Quiana, staring appreciatively at Trey. âNext, I hope they combine the locker rooms.â
âRatting on who?â Trey asked, his eyes on Callie. âWhat are you talking about, Sheely?â
It seemed that he had overheard at least part of what sheâd said.
Callieâs dark eyes widened, and she forced herself to concentrate. She knew Trey wouldnât like what theyâd been talking about, and she wasnât eager to be the one to tell him about Fritcheâs less-than-stellar-performance. Errors, in general, annoyed Trey, but an error in his operating roomâ¦yikes!
Trey Weldon didnât make mistakes in the operating room, had not even come close to one during the entire year that Callie had been working with him. No, this wasnât a conversation she cared to continue with him.
âEver hear the old saying of Allâs Well That Ends Well?â she asked hopefully. âLetâs just say it applies in this case.â
It was an optimistic approach, she knew. Trey had no patience with those who wasted his time by not supplying him with the answers he wanted. He was looking impatient now. Impatientâand shirtless and muscular.
âSheely,â Trey was already verging on testy. He directed a blue-eyed laser stare at her. âStop talking in riddles.â
Callie flicked the tip of her tongue nervously over her top lip. Why did he have to grill her while standing there, half-nude? The sight was wreaking havoc with her thought processes. âWell, uhââ
âI donât know if youâd call this ratting, Trey,â Leo spoke up. âBut Fritche screwed up in there today. I thought you ought to know,â he added righteously.
Treyâs face went dark as a sky before a tornado was about to strike. âIs my patientââ
âHeâs fine,â Callie said quickly. âFritche made a few mistakes, correctable ones. The patient is fine,â she affirmed. âWe wouldâve called you the second anything turned bad.â
âThatâs not good enough,â Trey snapped. âI expect to be called the second before anything turns bad.â
âLuckily it didnât even get that far because Sheely was right there before No-Opposable-Thumbs Fritche could do any damage,â Leo hastened to assure him. âHonest, there was no harm done, Trey.â
âOkay, then.â Trey gave Leo a fraternal slap on the shoulder. âI can always count on you to be frank and up-front with me, canât I, Leo?â His slight smile instantly faded when he turned back to Callie. âWhat about you, Sheely?â Treyâs expression darkened further. âI want a word with you, Sheely. Now.â
His big hand cupped her elbow, and he walked her a few feet away, turning her aside, his six-foot frame blocking her view of the other two.
His hand stayed on her elbow, and Callie tried hard not to notice. Trey frequently touched her, placing his hand on the small of her back or on her shoulder when she preceded him through doors, curling his fingers around her wrist while enthusiastically describing something neurosurgical, cupping her elbow to guide her wherever.
She pretended to pay no attention to his touch because she knew Trey himself was oblivious to it, as oblivious as he was to her as an individual. As a woman. His touch was automatic and unaware, definitely nothing personal. He would clasp her wrist as one might grip a pencil, she knew that his hand on her back or her elbow was akin to him resting his palm on a railing.
There were times when she wished she actually were the inanimate object Trey Weldon considered her to be. It would be so much easierâon 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 sheâwho had always been so sensible and practical, whoâd never suffered any hopeless, girlish, embarrassing yearnings, not even as an adolescent, when almost everybody else didâwould 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 didnât. And though she continually fought her feelings for him, his touch and his penetrating stare affected her viscerally.
There didnât 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 perfectedâor maybe heâd naturally been gifted withâthe 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 Treyâs 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.
âI expect better from you, Sheely.â 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, âSheely is tough. Sheâs the only woman Iâve ever worked with whoâs never cried. Not a tear, not once.â
It was untrue, of course, further proof of how little he knew about her. Sheâd wept over their saddest cases, her heart breaking for the devastated families of patients unable to be saved, even by Trey Weldonâs formidable skills.
But sheâd never cried in front of Trey Weldon, not a tear, not once. Callie knew Treyâs remark to Leo was a high compliment indeed, and she intended to keep her record of tearlessness in his company intact.
âThe patients deserve better from you, Sheely,â snarled Trey. âThey deserve your best, and when you put anything else ahead ofââ
âI put nothing ahead of our patientsâ well-being. They get the best that I have to give, Dr. Weldon.â Callie tried to match his cold tones but couldnât. His particular way of expressing anger through iciness was unique to him.
Which didnât mean she couldnât 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 soâ¦when sheâd 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. âAnd 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 ofââ
âStop making excuses for him, Sheely!â Trey cut in. He held her glare. âItâs unacceptable.â
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 dadâs adages popped into Callieâs head. Too late. Sheâd gone ahead and lost her temper, anyway. Now she might as well go for broke.
âUnacceptable?â she huffed. âSo are you going to fire me?â It was a dare, a challenge. Callie held her breath.
âHere we go again!â Leo heaved a dramatic groan. He and Quiana had moved closer, the better to listen to every word that passed between Trey and Callie. âItâs like seeing a rerun on TV for the four hundredth timeâyou know every word of the dialogue. Câmon Quiana, letâs get some lunch.â
âMight as well,â agreed Quiana.
The two exited the lounge, heading for the cafeteria.
âThe four hundredth time?â Trey looked bewildered.
âNot even close,â murmured Callie, a pale pink flush staining her cheeks.
Okay, she hadnât 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 sheâd waited in agony, expecting him to fire her outright. But he hadnât, and then sheâd said it againâand again and againâand by now she pretty much knew Trey wouldnât fire her. Was absolutely sure of it, in fact.
But she hadnât said it four hundred times!
âNo, I am not going to fire you, butââ Trey broke off, suddenly looking almost comically astonished. âSo thatâs 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 âgoing to fire me?â habit of yours.â
âDuh,â Callie muttered darkly. Trey would have to pick right now to finally decipher one of Leoâs stupid jokes. âAnd itâs not a habit. Leo overexaggerates.â
âNot this time, he didnât. Itâs 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?â
âOh, maybe the first three hundred times.â Callie was sarcastic. âBut the last hundred times or so, I felt my job was safe enough.â
Treyâs dark brows narrowed. âNobody talks to me the way you do, Sheely.â
âIs that a threat?â 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.
âDonât go nuclear, Sheely, it wasnât a threat. It was simply a statement of fact. Nobody around here talks to me the way you do.â
âWell, no wonder.â She folded her arms in front of her chest in classic defensive position. Just because she had a crush on him didnât mean she would permit herself to be crushed by him.
âYouâre practically a god around here. Nobody can believe you actually chose to come to Pittsburgh when you couldâve gone to any hospital in the country. Needless to say, without exception, people speak reverently to you.â
âIt seems that Leo isnât the only one on this team who overexaggerates.â Trey looked irked. âAnd 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 wouldnât I actually choose to come here, Sheely?â
âWhy would you choose Pittsburghâs Tri-State Medical Center when you couldâve 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?â
âYou see, you just did it again!â Trey exclaimed. âAnother putdown of your hometown. Whatâs with you Pittsburghers?â
âWe donât like bragging, so we donât embellish. We simply state the factsâwhich is what I was doing,â retorted Callie. âYou 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 toââ
âDonât forget to mention my exclusive New England prep school and my undergraduate bioengineering degree from MIT, Sheely.â
âWhich enables you to custom design the surgical instruments that youââ Callie broke off and stared at him. âYou were being ironically droll.â
âAnd that makes you gape?â
âMore drollery?â
âAh, your jaw drops even farther.â
âAll right, I admit Iâm stunned. For your to joke about your hallowed credentials is something like hearing a saint wisecracking about divinity.â
âSheely,â he paused and frowned. âDonât put me on a pedestal.â She had the usual misconception about the blueness of his blood, Trey realized, and her next words confirmed it.
âI donât have to, youâre already up there. I expect you were born thereâand youâre well aware of it, too.â
A man like Trey Weldon, brilliant, handsome, successfulâa 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 cityâin 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. Callieâs 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. âAnd we arenât in aâ¦a gym!â she snapped. âPut on your shirt. Please,â she added, because, after all, she was talking to her boss.
Trey picked up the scrub shirt heâd dropped onto a chair and pulled it over his head, inside out. âIâm not following.â He gave an exasperated huff. âWhat on earth are we talking about now, Sheely?â
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 theyâd been talking about. âWeâre discussing your beyond-impeccable credentials,â she said edgily.
Trey gave a wave of his hand, visibly impatient. âLetâs get back to the real subject at hand, Sheely.â
Callie proceeded to describe in detail each of Scott Fritcheâs minor but time-consuming mistakes. âItâs not an enormous deal, Trey, though Leoâs done his best to make you think it is. Weâve both watched other residents, with more experience than Scott Fritche, do far worse with no unfavorable results. So you seeââ
âWhat I see is that Arkis and Turner were right. You really did save Fritcheâs ass in there, Sheely. Not to mention our poor patientâs cranium.â Trey folded his arms in front of his chest, but the gesture wasnât a defensive one for him.
Oh, yes, he was infinitely gifted in the body language of intimidation. However, Callie wasnât intimidated. Instead, observing the way his muscles rippled when he moved his arms, studying the breadth of his shoulders, she wasâ¦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 Auxiliaryâs Annual Springtime Ball, a popular fund-raiser held in early April, when the regionâs weather was still more like winter than spring, despite the calendar.
Unlike those charity balls sponsored by exclusive womenâs clubs, where the price of admission was astronomically high, thus limiting the guests to the social elite, the Tri-State Hospitalâs 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 oneâs 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 sheâd made no plans to attend. She couldnât seem to work up any enthusiasm for going.
Her eyes darted to Trey. He was glaring at her.
âSheely, if it isnât 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?â
Callieâs eyes, dark as onyx, grew round as saucers. âThe patient wasnât endangered, honestly.â She caught her lower lip between her teeth and took a deep breath. âI was right there, Trey, I knew what to do. Of course, I wouldâve called for you the second before anything could have gone wrong.â
Trey straightened, looking even taller to her. âYou know I expect my team to be like cogs in a perfectly run machine, Sheely. We simply canât afford any mistakes and we canât succumb toââ
âI know. And woe to the cog that slips, even slightly. Leo and Quiana and Iââ
âThis isnât about you three, I know how good you are. Youâre 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 heâs no good, weâve got to get him out of the neurosurgery program sooner rather than later, before he does irreparable harm.â
âTrey, before we go any further with this, maybe you should know that Leo holds a personal grudge against Scott Fritche. I donât think Iâd be exaggerating to say that if Leo could hurt Scott, he would. Oh, not physically. But heâd certainly settle for doing damage to Scottâs career.â
âWhy?â
âBecause Scott Fritche dated and then dumped Leoâs cousin Melina. Sheâs a student nurse here at the med center and was heartbroken whenââ
âSheely, this is not an episode of General Hospital. Please spare me the details of whoâs dating and dumping who. Iâm only interested in the welfare of my patients, and right now Iâm trying to ascertain whetherââ
âAll right. Fine,â Callie said coldly. âNever mind gathering all the facts and coming to an informed conclusion. Itâs clear that youâve already made up your mind.â
âSheely, you areââ
âIâm tired of talking about this,â Callie said, boldly cutting him off.
She turned and stalked from the lounge.
âSheely, come back here.â
She ignored his command and stormed inside the empty womenâs 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. âSheely, Trey Weldon wants me to tell you that he has to talk to you. He said âright now.ââ
Jennifer Olsen had been in the class behind her in Tri-Stateâs 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 womenâs surgical locker room, Jennifer mustâve felt obliged to explain her presence.
âI came up to see if Karen wanted to go to the Squirrel Den tonight. Thereâs a bunch of us going.â
Callie knew Karen Kaminsky, an OR nurse whoâd graduated in Jenniferâs class. âYou mustâve missed her. Sheâs probably at lunch.â
âOh. Hey, Sheely, you come to the Squirrel Den tonight, too, if you want, okay?â
Callie pictured the Squirrel Den, a relic from the cityâs industrial dark age, a dank, smoky, gloomy place jammed with cheap old tables and booths. âUh, thanks, Jen. Iâll try to make it,â she said politely. I just wonât try very hard, she added to herself.
âSheely, about Trey Weldon, heââ
Callie sighed. âTell him you didnât see me in here, Jennifer.â
âBut this place is too small for me not to see you. I wouldnât want to lie to the man.â
âCertainly not,â Callie murmured dourly.
Without a doubt Treyâs credentials met, even exceeded, all of Jenniferâs requirements in a potential husband and father. Too bad, Jen, Callie thought darkly, you donât 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. âYou can tell him I flew out that window on my broomstick. He probably thinks Iâm capable of it. All I have to do is swap my surgical cap for my tall, pointy, black hat.â
âThe doctor is always right, and when the nurse doesnât agree, sheâs a witch, hmm?â Jennifer was sympathetic.
âExactly. Just a doctor-nurse disagreement. Itâs nothing personal.â 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.
âWell, since heâs waiting out there, I guess I ought to go tell him something.â Jennifer lowered her voice conspiratorially. âSheely, rumors fly around here, but Iâve never heard any about you and Trey Weldon. Still, Iâll come right out and ask, and I hope you wonât take offense. Are you two involved?â
âIn what? A blood feud? No, not yet.â
Jennifer giggled. âYou know what I mean, Sheely. Are you and he, um, romantically involved?â
âNo.â Callieâs heart lurched wildly. She wouldâve 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 worldâs great romantics, passionate, sensitive and thoughtfulâyet 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 sheâd give to know!
Thoroughly flustered, Callie forgot to breathe, and then had to inhale sharply.
âSheely?â Jenniferâs voice seemed to come from some other dimension. âWould you happen to know if Trey is going to the Springtime Ball?â
Callie jerked to attention. She was the one in the other dimension, a foolish one called fantasyland. Jenâs voice came from the real world, and Callieâs return to it was sharp and complete.
She heaved a small sigh. She was pathetic. Her hot, Trey fantasy, coupled with Jenniferâs query about Trey and the big dance, was so junior high school she wouldnât be surprised to hear the bell ringing to change classes.
âI donât know, Jennifer. He hasnât mentioned the Springtime Ball.â
âI know itâs late, the ball is only two weeks away, but the guy I was going to go with had to cancel. Heâs a lawyer and has some stupid conference that just came up.â Jennifer added quickly.
âI hate it when that happens.â Callie tried to sound sympathetic.
âAnd I already have a dress and I donât want Joshua to think Iâll be sitting at home that night because he canât make it. Maybe Iâll just go ahead and ask Trey Weldon to the dance. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know.â 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.
âSee you later, Sheely,â 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.
âDonât think you can hide in there and sulk, Sheely. You are going to listen to me.â
âTrey, Dr. Weldon, you canât go in there!â
Callie heard the locker-room door open and slam hard against the tiled wall. She heard Treyâs voice, angry and frustrated, followed by Jenniferâs high-pitched protest.
But it happened so fast, in just a split second, that she didnât 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.