Big Girls Don't Cry

Table of Contents

Praise for the novels of Cathie Linz

Bad Girls Don’t

“A humorous tale . . . The secondary characters are comical and outrageous . . . You won’t want to miss
Bad Girls Don’t
.”—
Romance Reviews Today

 
“Cathie Linz gives her beautifully matched protagonists lots of sexy chemistry and some delightfully snappy dialogue, and the quirky cast of secondary characters gives
Bad Girls Don’t
its irresistible charm.”—
Chicago Tribune

 
“Linz, known for her fast-paced, snappy romantic comedies, once again sparkles in this heartwarming, funny tale. And her secondary characters . . . make an already excellent story exceptional.”—
Booklist
(starred review)

 
“Linz’s characterizations are absolutely wonderful. I fell in love with the protagonists from the first page of this book . . . We’ve watched Ms. Linz’s writing develop and grow over the years. It has always been a pleasure to read her books, but I must say that this one is a fantastic novel!”

—
Rendezvous

 
“Totally delightful.”—
Fresh Fiction

Good Girls Do

“Humor and warmth . . . Readers are going to love this!”

—Susan Elizabeth Phillips

 
“Cathie Linz is the author that readers of romantic comedy have been waiting for. She knows how to do it—characters with depth, sharp dialogue, and a compelling story. The result is a charming, offbeat world, one you’ll hate to leave.”

—Jayne Ann Krentz

 
“Sometimes even good girls need to take a walk on the wild side. Linz deftly seasons her writing with her usual delectable wit, and the book’s quirky cast of endearing secondary characters adds another measure of humor to this sweetly sexy, fabulously fun contemporary romance.”

—
Booklist
(starred review)

 
“Sexy, sassy, and graced with exceptional dialogue, this fast-paced story is both hilarious and heartwarming, featuring wonderfully wacky secondary characters and well-developed protagonists you will come to love . . . A winner that will leave readers smiling long after they have turned the final page.”—
Library Journal

 
“Lively and fun, and you won’t be able to put it down.”

—
Fresh Fiction

 
“A fun contemporary romance . . . Fans of
You Can’t Take It with You
who like romantic romps will enjoy this funny family tale.”—
The Best Reviews

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 
BIG GIRLS DON’T CRY

 
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

 
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / October 2007

 
Copyright © 2007 by Cathie L. Baumgardner.

 
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eISBN : 978-1-436-27110-3

 
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Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
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BERKLEY SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

Chapter One

Broke and skinny beat out broke and chunky every time. Leena Riley was convinced of it. She should know. She was a size-sixteen, plus-size model in a swizzle stick, size-zero world.

How ironic that now she was down on her luck, she was forced to return to her down-on-its-luck hometown of Rock Creek, Pennsylvania. Leena hadn’t been back since she’d left for the big city of Chicago at eighteen, and she honestly hadn’t missed the place one bit.

Things had changed . . . a little. The Tivoli Theater was open again. The nail salon and comic-book store were new additions. And there was a new vet in town. Looking for a receptionist. Leena pulled the HELP WANTED sign out of the window as she strolled into the animal clinic.

She needed this job. It was this or work the graveyard shift at Gas4Less. Rock Creek wasn’t exactly a hotbed of financial opportunities.

But the vet’s office appeared to be deteriorating into total mayhem. Leena ducked as a parrot dive-bombed her while a beagle howled in the corner accompanied by a yowling cat in a carrier. Another cat, the biggest one Leena had ever seen, hissed from atop a metal file cabinet as a pair of wiry terriers yelped at the pissed-off megafeline from down below.

The situation called for drastic measures. No problemo. Her sister Sue Ellen was the Queen of Drastic Measures so Leena instantly knew what had to be done. Putting two fingers in her mouth, Leena let out an ear-piercing whistle that made cabs on Chicago’s Mag Mile squeal to a stop beside her.

The room instantly fell silent. Realizing that would last only a second or two, Leena spoke quickly. Her dad had done a stint in the Marine Corps and had never lost his drill-sergeant voice. She mimicked him as she barked out orders. “Okay, terriers and owners outside. Beagle and owner in there.” She pointed to an empty exam room. “Parrot, come here.” She held out her hand and—miracle of miracles—the bird obediently flew onto it with a flurry of feathers. “Cats, as you were.”

A tattoo-covered older biker dude in a leather vest and jeans moved forward. “Thanks for catching that old buzzard!”

“This your parrot?” Leena asked.

“It’s a friend’s. Mrs. Trimble asked me to bring the stubborn buzzard to see the doc here for a checkup. She’d have my ass if he flew out the door or something.”

“Why isn’t he in a cage?”

The senior citizen biker dude shifted awkwardly from one booted foot to the other while guiltily pointing to the cage. “I, uh . . . have a hard time seeing creatures jailed.”

Leena calmly opened the cage door and carefully set the parrot inside. “Keep the cover over the cage if you have trouble looking at him.”

“You’re good with animals.”

“I’ve worked with a few in my time.” One grabby photographer at a lingerie photo shoot several months ago certainly came to mind.

The senior biker held out his beefy hand. “The name’s Jerry.”

“Leena Riley.” Yeah, right. Leena. Another joke since she hadn’t been
lean
a day in her life. In school they’d mocked her by chanting that she should have been named Lotsa Riley.

Of course, it hadn’t helped that she’d grown up in the poorest mobile home in the Regency Trailer Park. Sure, it was supposed to be ritzier than the Broken Creek Trailer Park, but that really wasn’t saying much.

The two trailer parks had a rivalry going similar to the rivalry between Rock Creek and Serenity Falls. Leena had read somewhere that Serenity Falls had recently been listed as one of the best small towns in America. Which made Rock Creek the ugly stepsister yet again.

Not that her own older sister Sue Ellen saw things that way. Of course, Sue Ellen saw things no one else did, like the face of Jesus in the fur of a llama.

Leena loved her older sister, but she didn’t understand her. Few people did. Which was why Sue Ellen earned the nickname Our Lady of the Outlandish.

Baby sister Emma was the one with the brains and fancy job title in the family. Leena was the one with the big dreams, very few of which had actually come true. Not that she’d told her sisters that. No, her reports to them had been filled with plenty of optimism and major exaggerations.

Which made her homecoming all the more humiliating.

Leena was still reeling from the bigger-they-are-the-harder-they-fall jokes that had been thrown her way when her modeling agency had fired her. The Image Plus Modeling Agency in Chicago was no Wilhelmina.

“And you’re no Kate Dillon,” her agent Irene had shot back at her before showing her the door.

Okay, so Kate was one of the leading plus-size models. And okay, so Leena’s assignments weren’t photo shoots for
French Vogue
or even Lane Bryant. That didn’t mean she was a total failure.

What about that layout for the Sears spring-sales flyer last year? That had gone well, once the photographer and makeup artist had recovered from hurling after eating bad sushi they’d had catered in.

Before she could think of her other professional accomplishments, Leena was almost knocked down by a nun on the run who flew into the waiting room and rushed up to a family hidden from view by a large ficus.

Leena heard someone say, “Is he dead?”

Great. Her first day on the job and someone had to bite the dust on her watch. Not a good omen. Should she call 911?

“You called me here to give last rites,” the nun, whom Leena now recognized as Sister Mary, said.

“Yes,” a little girl replied.

“To a hamster?”

“Not just any hamster,” the little girl explained. “To Harry the Hamster.”

“I can’t give last rites to a hamster,” Sister Mary said.

“What’s going on out here?”

Leena stared at the hunk in the white lab coat who’d just drawled that question. She knew this guy. She recognized the wicked twinkle in his blue eyes. Cole Flannigan.

She thought he’d be bartending in some tropical hot spot by now, his Hawaiian shirt hanging open to reveal his muscular chest. At least his chest had been muscular the last time she’d seen it. Of course that had been almost a decade ago.

Still, he didn’t look like he’d gained a beer belly yet. In fact, his worn jeans made him look lean and extremely bedable. By a lean and equally bedable babe. Not by her, broke and chunky Leena Riley.