Bachelor Doctor. Barbara Boswell

is Doug Radocay. I, uh, mentioned that his grandmother lives in my old neighborhood near my parents’ house.”

      â€œYes, you mentioned that. Among other things that I won’t go into. Feel free to thank me for my restraint, Sheely.”

      She was fairly sure he was kidding but not sure enough. “Thank you,” she replied seriously. “It’s very diplomatic of you to resist bringing up…those other things, especially since we agreed to disagree on them.”

      â€œIf you say so, Sheely.” Trey arched his brows. “Did I tell you that I happened to overhear you on the office phone when you bullied Mr. Radocay’s HMO into approving the referral to me? They were against it, but you persuaded them to loosen the purse strings and pay up. You were impressively alarming, Sheely.”

      â€œI was simply following your lead, Dr. Weldon.”

      â€œWere you?”

      â€œUh-huh. I asked myself what would you say in a similar situation since you always manage to make those pencil-pushing bureaucrats on the end of the line bow to your will. I imitated your technique, right down to the blood-chilling tone and not-too-subtle threats.”

      â€œThank you. And let me return the compliment, Sheely. In proper form, you too can freeze the blood of the pencil pushers.”

      He pressed the call button to summon the elevator. “I’m grabbing a bite to eat from the cafeteria. Are you going there?”

      â€œI guess.” She glanced down at her less-than-flattering outfit. “I meant to bring my lunch and eat in the lounge today but I forgot it. I, uh, I didn’t expect to be seen in public looking like this.” She shifted uneasily from one foot to another.

      â€œYou look fine,” Trey said, as if on cue.

      Callie’s head jerked up. “That wasn’t a bid for a compliment.”

      But it had sounded that way, she chided herself. “I look like a slob and I know it,” she added sternly.

      The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside the empty car.

      â€œLet me put it another way, then.” Trey pressed the button for the cafeteria located in the basement, and the doors snapped shut. “A suitably uncomplimentary way. You don’t look any worse in that getup than you do in those oversize scrubs, Sheely.” He grinned. “Better?”

      Callie stared up at him. Trey didn’t smile often. Quiana had once accused him of rationing his smiles, and he had somberly agreed that he was not the smiley sort. Therefore his grin—teasing, lighthearted—packed a potent wallop.

      She felt slightly dazed. “Those scrubs are marked One Size Fits All. I’ve often wondered ‘all’ of what?”

      â€œGorillas, maybe?” suggested Trey.

      â€œSo if you happen to live on the Planet of the Apes, they really would fit all.”

      â€œAnd be worn in simian ORs,” murmured Trey, his lips quirking, as if picturing one.

      He successfully warded off the impulse to smile again. “We need to eat and get our blood sugar levels up. We’re verging on giddy.” His face was devoid of any further trace of amusement.

      â€œDon’t worry, Trey. Nobody would ever accuse you of being giddy, or even verging on it.”

      She glanced up at him, and their eyes met again. Callie tried to suppress the frisson of heat that raced through her. Trey looked calm and collected, and immaculate as usual, despite the grinding hours of surgery and disconcerting locker-room scene. Not even his inside-out scrub top detracted from his aura of dignity.

      Callie ran a self-conscious hand along her bedraggled ponytail and then attempted to smooth down her bangs. Even with a concerted effort, could she ever acquire a tenth of the elegance that Trey seemed to naturally possess?

      The elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened. A crowd was waiting to board. The cafeteria was only a few yards away, and Trey and Callie walked toward it.

      â€œSandwich line?” he suggested. “Since Swiss steak is today’s hot special.”

      â€œSandwich line, definitely. Their Swiss steak is only for the very young and foolish, with ultrahardy digestive tracts. I remember eating it during my student nurse days, which are long gone—along with my ability to consume Tri-State’s Swiss steak.”

      â€œYou’re not that long out of nursing school, are you, Sheely? You look like a kid.”

      â€œThanks, I think. But I haven’t been a kid for a long time. I’m twenty-six,” she admitted. “As of last month,” she added, because being twenty-six was still hard to fathom.

      There had been a time when twenty-six seemed ancient to her. Now that she’d actually reached it, it did not feel old at all.

      You’re on the wrong side of twenty-five now, Callie, her sister, Bonnie, had joshed, as Callie blew out all the candles blazing on her birthday cake. Bonnie, four years younger, still considered twenty-six to be ancient.

      â€œLast month? Uh, happy birthday, Sheely. Belatedly.”

      Callie didn’t bother to respond to the perfunctory wishes. She knew very well that he had no interest in things like staff birthdays; he’d made it his personal rule not to participate in the inevitable collections for cards and/or cakes.

      â€œTwenty-six.” To her surprise, Trey picked up the thread of their conversation. “That’s still young, Sheely. At least it is to me. I’ll be thirty-three in October.”

      He looked slightly astonished by the fact, and Callie knew exactly what he was feeling.

      â€œYou’re very young to be regarded as a respected authority and leader in your field,” she pointed out. “But that’s to be expected since you graduated from college in less than three years and medical school in only—”

      â€œYou’ve been reading the med center’s press releases about me, Sheely. Gearing up to hit me for a raise?”

      Callie blushed. If Trey only knew how much she knew about him, had read about him…he would probably peg her as an obsessed fan!

      â€œI just wanted to remind you that you’re still considered the Boy Wonder around here.”

      â€œBoy Wonder,” he repeated. “That was my identity for a long, long time, but once you’re thirty, you stop being a boy anything.”

      â€œSome men don’t ever stop being boys,” Callie said, with a touch of acid. “No matter how old they might be—which goes to prove you don’t have to be young to be foolish, I guess.”

      She thought of Scott Fritche and his penchant for young student nurses, of her brother, Kirby, a year and a day younger than her, a self-described slacker living rent free in their parents’ basement while he pondered what he wanted to do when he grew up.

      â€œYou’re right.” Trey looked thoughtful. “And it works the other way, too. Kids can be quite sagacious. I was, and I’m sure you were too, Sheely.”

      â€œWell, I never actually saw myself as a ‘sagacious’ sort of girl,” joked Callie. And if she had been one, it was too bad she’d grown up to be a foolish woman, she added silently, one harboring a futile, unrequited crush on the unattainable Trey Weldon.

      â€œDon’t make light of your accomplishments, Sheely. I don’t believe in false modesty. You were the valedictorian of your high school class and of your nursing school class, too. Those are not the accomplishments of a