The clock in Emergency read 3:00 a.m. Bleary-eyed, Cassie removed the bits of Pacific Coast Highway embedded in his skin while the patient complained loudly. Then she saw the scar. It couldn't be. But how many men had long scars on their posteriors? Cassie vivdly remembered her father sewing him up after Cassie's dog, at her command, had wreaked havoc on that particular portion of Brendan's anatomy. Oh, no! she thought, and the tweezers she held slipped. 'Cripes, what're you using, lady? A pitchfork?' No doubt remained. Brendan Peter Craig, the scourge of her childhood, had just made a spectacular reentry into her life.