“He’s right, Maddie,” Libby said as she covered the ugly wound on Maddie’s leg with a large gauze pad. “It’ll hurt like heck in an hour.”

“Already does,” Maddie said with a wince.

Her face had lost all color, her mouth was twisted with pain and Mac hated that he had caused her suffering. Despite her killer figure, an aura of fragility surrounded her, with the notable exception of her hands, which were rough and obviously used to hard work.

“You’ll need to be real careful with that hand for a week or two,” Libby continued. “It won’t take much to cause a bad infection if you get something in those open cuts.”

Maddie closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the sofa. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “What am I going to do?”

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. The refrain played over and over as Maddie pondered the deep load of crap she was in—or rather, the deep load of crap Mac McCarthy had pushed her into. From the second she’d looked up to see him leaning over her in the street, he’d seemed familiar to her. But with her injuries demanding her full attention, she’d been unable to put a name to the distinctive face. The nearly twenty years since he’d led Gansett High School to the state baseball championship had transformed him from a handsome boy into a stunning man.

Jet-black hair that curled over his collar, bright blue eyes, broad shoulders, defined pecs. . . After the way she’d ogled him in school, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognized him instantly. No, she’d had just enough time to call his parents bastards before she put two and two together to get Mac McCarthy.

Except for the dark circles under his eyes and the grayish tone to his complexion, the man was utter perfection. She knew from Mrs. McCarthy, who bragged about her five darlings incessantly, that Mac lived in South Florida. You’d never know it to look at him.

Back when he’d been five years ahead of her in school, he’d never even known she was alive. And now, the first time he saw her, really saw her, he got a full view of the bane of her existence—her overly large breasts. She wanted to die just thinking about it. Maddie wished she could either disappear or find a way to make Mac McCarthy and his big, hulking presence go away.

She opened her eyes. Still there. Still hovering. Still gorgeous. “You don’t have to hang out,” she said. “I can take it from here.”

“I’ll see you home.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It’s my fault this happened—”

“I hit you.”

“Because I stepped in front of you.”

“You got hit by the bike, Mac?” Libby asked, turning to him. “Let me see.”

Mac turned his leg to show a huge bruise forming on his calf.

Both women gasped.