DR. GUY GIROUX CLIMBED over a fallen palm tree then up the rise at the edge of his property. From there he could see the road and, thankfully, the city maintenance crew hard at work disentangling the trees and cars that had prevented him from getting to the hospital the previous night.

      The last he’d heard from the E.R., before his cell had gone dead, was that they were critically understaffed. As head of the E.R., he should have been there. Thank God Rachel had made it in, but with this kind of storm, the injured would be more than any one doctor could handle.

      They should have been better prepared, given the run of bad weather they’d been having. It was only a couple of months ago that the last severe storm had come through, causing major mudslides that had washed away houses. Now this.

      He headed back to his house, which mercifully had been spared the worst of last night’s storm. His neighbor’s ground floor had been flooded, and Mrs. Allen had come to him for help, but all he’d managed to do was get her and her three annoying Pomeranians into the warmth of his spare room.

      It was the only thing that had gone right. Without television reception or phone service, he’d relied on his radio for any word of relief, but it hadn’t come till about an hour ago.

      The storm was the worst recorded in the history of Courage Bay, California, and he knew firsthand how far back that history went. His great-great-great-grandfather, Pierre Giroux, had been the captain of an American twenty-one-gun sloop of war, the Ranger, which had blown off course during the U.S.–Mexican War and been shipwrecked in Courage Bay. Perhaps in a storm like this.

      Guy heard the dogs yapping before he crossed his threshold. He liked dogs and ordinarily wouldn’t have minded their incessant barking, but not today when he was suffering from lack of sleep and a rare feeling of helplessness.

      “Dr. Guy?”

      He inhaled deeply and let the air out slowly, trying to ease the headache that had been building steadily from four this morning. “Yes, Mrs. Allen?”

      “The babies are hungry. Do you think it’s possible to get into my house and get some food for them?”

      “No, I don’t believe it is. But I have some ground beef in the freezer.” He closed the door behind him and headed for the kitchen, avoiding the small woman still dressed in her housecoat and curlers.

      “They’d like that very much,” she said.

      As he got the beef out, he turned to her. “I’m going to have to leave. The road is open, and I’m needed at the hospital. The power’s back on, and I’m sure they’ll have the phone service turned on shortly and you can call your sister.”

      Mrs. Allen nodded. She was eighty if she was a day, and her sister was only a few years younger.

      “Then you call your insurance agent. He’ll help you with the house.”

      The woman sat down at the dining room table, and the dogs, none of them puppies, swirled around her legs, panting heavily. “Thank you for last night. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

      “It was my pleasure.” He put the beef in the microwave, hit defrost, then excused himself with a reassuring smile to get ready for work.

      His shower, although too brief, revived him somewhat, and the three aspirin would help even more. By the time he’d dressed and returned to the kitchen, the dogs were gobbling up their breakfast, eating out of his cereal bowls. Mrs. Allen stood watching them, and he was glad that she had them. Everyone needed someone to care for.

      She looked up at him with a coy grin. “Have I told you about my great-niece, Lilly?”

      He nodded. “You have.”

      “She’s a very beautiful girl, Doctor. And she can cook like a dream.”

      He grabbed his coat from the back of his dining-room chair and slipped it on. “I’m sure she can, but I’m already married—to my work.”

      “Oh, I’m sure—”

      “If you don’t believe me,” he said, “you can ask my ex-wife. Turns out I don’t share well with others. So save your niece the grief.”

      Mrs. Allen sighed. “It’s such a shame. You’re so very handsome, and especially nice.”

      He touched the older woman on the shoulder. “Thank you. You have my phone number if you need anything, right?”

      She nodded.

      “Please let me know when you reach your sister. If I’m not available, you can tell my secretary, Connie.”

      Mrs. Allen went back to the pleasure of watching her “babies” as Guy headed toward the garage. He pressed the door opener as he stepped inside. The garage was neat as an operating room, which was the only way he’d have it. Inside, his baby, a 1958 Corvette, sat shiny and polished as the day she was born. But he wouldn’t take her out today. Not with the roads so torn up. Instead he climbed into his Range Rover and prepared for a slow twenty miles to the Courage Bay E.R.

      When he arrived at the hospital, his headache returned full force. He went to his office first, but the usual piles of reports were missing. As was Connie. He played back the messages on his private line, and after two calls from a pharmaceutical house in Boston asking him to speak at a symposium next spring, Connie’s voice came on, letting him know that she’d been stranded and would get in as soon as the streets were cleared.

      Guy sighed as he went to make coffee. His office wasn’t large but it had its pluses, the main one being the private call room. He busied himself with coffee grounds while he thought about the missing reports.

      He’d have to give the staff the benefit of the doubt. Considering the conditions last night, reports weren’t the top priority. Saving lives was.

      Which meant that he would take his coffee to go. He’d do rounds, assess the situation in the E.R. But first, more aspirin.

      The scent of his Kona coffee made him feel better as he went back to his desk. He kept meaning to replace the old thing, with its battered sides and stiff top drawer, but whenever he had any time off, he made his way to the boat.

      Just thinking of the Caduceus relaxed him more than anything else in the world. His ’44 sloop was everything a man could want in a boat, and his only regret was that he had so little time to sail her.

      Thank God she’d been in dry dock during the storm. She was getting a new mast, aluminum. He was to have taken her out next week, but with this damn storm…

      He’d call. After rounds.

      Coffee cup in hand, Guy walked toward the admitting desk, all thoughts of sailing firmly stowed away. Before he reached his destination he was stopped twice, once by Karen, the admitting nurse, then by Mike Trailer, the head of maintenance, both of whom had tales of woe. Karen was concerned that the computers had been down for two hours during the night, and Mike told him about some window blowouts on the third floor. He listened patiently, although he was sure the information had already been given to Callie Baker, the chief of staff. He was more concerned with what was happening now in his domain.

      Surprisingly, there were only four people in the admitting area, none of whom presented serious problems. Two of the E.R. bays were occupied, one with a woman who had broken her left hip when she fell on a toppled tree, and the other with a heart-attack