Bad Girls Don't Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Turn the page for a special preview of Cathie Linz’s next novel Big Girls Don’t ...

  Praise for 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, off-beat 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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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  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.

  BAD GIRLS DON’T

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / November 2006

  Copyright © 2006 by Cathie L. Baumgardner.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without

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  the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

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  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-00797-6

  BERKLEY SENSATION®

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

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  BERKLEY SENSATION is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  Chapter One

  There were plenty of things that aggravated Skye Wright, but seeing a police cruiser in her rearview mirror was right up there.

  No worries. She could handle Rock Creek’s finest. She’d done it before, when Deputy Timmy Johnson had stopped her for speeding on her way to give belly-dancing lessons. The beanpole law enforcement officer was a sucker for a big smile and a little cleavage. Or a lot of cleavage, depending how far over the limit she was traveling.

  The halter top she wore gave her ample opportunity to flash a little flesh if necessary.

  “Hey, Timmy. You know I was only going a little fast to get your attention . . .”

  “It worked.”

  Uh-oh. This wasn’t Timmy. The Studly Do-Right glaring down at her and her cleavage was no sucker. She’d heard about Sheriff Nathan Thornton, but had managed to avoid him. Until now.

  “I need to see your license, proof of insurance, and registration,” he barked.

  Paperwork. She was so against paperwork. “Is that really necessary?” She shot him a huge smile. Hey, it was worth a try.

  Lawman Nathan did not smile back. “License, proof of insurance, and registration.”

  Skye shrugged. “Okay, but it’s gonna take me a while to find all that, because I’ve got a lot of stuff in my bag. Hold on . . . my wallet is in here someplace . . .”

  She’d barely started digging in her huge Peruvian woven tote when he gave her another order.

  “Take your hands out of the bag and please step out of the car.”

  His please wasn’t a polite one, so he got no points for saying it as far as she was concerned. Frankly, her attention was focused on trying to remember if she’d even put her wallet in the tote.

  “Put your hands where I can see them and step out of the car, ma’am,” he commanded, his voice gritty with impatience.

  “What?” Had he just called her ma’am? No one called her ma’am. She was only twenty-five, not ninety.

  “Step out of the car. Now!”

  “Okay, okay.” She shoved open the car door. “But I don’t see how that’s going to help me find the paperwork you want.”

  She jingled but didn’t jiggle as she slid out of her used Toyota. He didn’t blink at her belly-dancing costume—the black crocheted, fringed halter, the purple silk harem pants. She didn’t have her chiffon hip scarf on, but she was wearing the harmonious hip belt, with its loops of coins that made such a delightful sound as she moved.

  Studly Do-Right wasn’t projecting harmonious vibes at all. She saw her own reflection in his mirrored sunglasses, which he didn’t bother removing. Skye hated not being able to see his eyes. She judged people by their eyes.

  Well, maybe judge was the wrong word to use. She’d made more than her share of mistakes in her first twenty-five years. Who was she to judge others? She read people by their eyes. Yeah, that was a better way to explain it.

  Skye had always had strong responses to certain stimuli
. And arrogant authority figures like the lawman with the stony expression totally pushed her buttons. But not in a sexual way.

  Not that the guy was any slacker in the hottie department. He had all the right physical attributes—dark hair, broad shoulders, narrow waist. His face was sharply angular, but his bottom lip was surprisingly sensual, and his jaw reflected tons of stubbornness. His voice might have been nice, but it was definitely much too bossy for her taste.

  “Dump out your purse on the trunk.”

  There he went again. Being bossy. Skye felt like arguing, but she had places to go and things to do besides stand here arguing with an aggravating cop. She dumped her stuff onto the Toyota’s rusty trunk, thrilled to find her wallet was in there after all. So were lots of other things—papers, receipts, unopened junk mail, a few meditation cards, her checkbook (with a negative balance), her daughter’s missing minikaleidoscope—and an unopened box of Trojan condoms.

  “Here’s my license.” She handed it to him. “Hello?” She waved it at him. The man seemed obsessed with the contents of her bag. Hadn’t Mr. Lawman ever seen condoms before?

  “You appear to have a pile of tickets there.” He nodded toward the official-looking documents.

  So that’s what those papers were. Skye knew she’d stuck them someplace. A sudden breeze blew them off her car, which had already had over a hundred thousand miles on it when she’d bought it cheap from the friend-of-a-friend months ago.

  “I’ll get that.” He reached down for the tickets, studying them as he handed them to her.

  She grabbed them from him. His fingertips were warm against hers. She didn’t care. “Is this going to take long? I’m going to be late for an appointment. The football team is waiting for me.”

  “You doing a little routine for them?” He made it sound like she was planning on giving all the guys a lap dance.

  “I’m giving them lessons.”

  “I’ll just bet you are.”

  “Yoga lessons and belly dancing. To improve their balance and karma.”

  “Yeah, karma is real important in football,” he drawled. “Right up there with a tough defense and a running game.”

  “If you don’t believe me, call the coach. He’s the one who hired me.”

  “For a little light entertainment.”

  “No, for enlightenment and physical improvement.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Not that you’d know anything about enlightenment. Your mind is so closed, I’m surprised it even functions. Are you done with my license?”

  “No. Where’s your registration and proof of insurance?”

  She rolled her eyes. “How should I know?”

  “You’re supposed to have them with you when you drive. And you’re not supposed to drive over the posted speed limit.”

  “Who decided on thirty-five miles an hour, anyway? That’s totally insane. This isn’t a residential area and there’s hardly any traffic—probably because of the speed trap you’ve got set up here.”

  “If you don’t have your registration and proof of insurance, I’m going to have to take you back to the station.”

  “I don’t have time for this!” The coin belt around her hips jangled as she stomped her foot. “I can’t believe you’re being so anal! What’s your next step? Handcuffing me? Go ahead!”

  Nathan couldn’t believe how rapidly she launched herself into an impassioned rant about police states squashing personal freedoms.

  Fearing she’d hurt herself as she vehemently waved her hands around and narrowly missed smacking him in the face, he had no choice but to restrain her after she ignored his repeated requests to calm down.

  Naturally, that’s when another car pulled up. A big Lincoln Town Car. Owen Dunback, the elderly funeral director, was behind the wheel.

  “What’s going on here?” Owen asked.

  “Police brutality! The man has a handcuff fetish!” Skye declared.

  “She’s hardly a threat,” Owen said.

  Nathan disagreed. Skye had threatened his peace of mind before he’d even met her. Rock Creek was a small town. He’d heard all about her and her mishaps.

  “There’s no need to handcuff her,” Owen added.

  “She was speeding.”

  “Then give her a ticket.”

  “She has a habit of not paying tickets. Has a pile of them in her bag.”

  “I’ll pay them for her.” Owen’s wrinkled face reflected his concern. “Nate, she has a small child at home.”

  Nathan made no comment. He felt the pulse jerking in his neck as emotion coursed through him. Here was a woman accustomed to breaking the rules and not caring about the consequences. And she had a child.

  No, he couldn’t go there. He couldn’t relive the searing pain of loss.

  Slamming the door on those dark emotions, Nathan kept his focus on the present.

  “How fast was she going?” Owen asked.

  Nathan had to unclench his jaw to reply. “Ten miles above the speed limit.”

  “I think he’s just got something against belly dancers.” Skye swayed in front of him. Her arms might be restrained behind her back, but those hips of hers were making moves that should be illegal. “That right, Mr. Lawman? Do you feel threatened by a woman’s cosmic power?”

  “Not unless she’s carrying a gun.”

  “I’m not into guns.”

  “Glad to hear that.”

  Owen interrupted them. “What do you say, Nate? Issue her a ticket. Or give her a warning. But don’t take her to jail.”

  “Authority figures are always threatened by free spirits,” Skye stated.

  “Only if they’re speeding and driving without the required documentation,” Nathan retorted.

  She stunned him by handing him the handcuffs. Somehow she’d freed herself. She shrugged. “A little trick I learned from a friend.”

  Okay, now he was really getting pissed. “You’ve just added resisting arrest to your charges,” he growled.

  “I wasn’t resisting,” she denied. “I just politely returned your handcuffs to you.”

  “That’s true,” Owen agreed.

  “Trust me, when and if I start resisting, you’ll know,” Skye added with a satisfied smirk.

  “That’s it. Get in the car.” Nathan slapped the handcuffs back on her and stuffed her in the backseat of the squad car.

  “Call my mom,” Skye called out to Owen. “She’s at my place babysitting. Tell her what happened and ask her to gather the gang.”

  “Sheriff, you’re making a mistake,” Owen said.

  That wasn’t the way Nathan viewed it. He knew trouble when he saw it, and Skye was trouble with a capital T. She’d been stirring things up since she’d first sauntered into town a few months ago. Nothing illegal that he knew about. Until today.

  She drove him nuts singing the Beatles’ “Revolution” all the way to the police station. “I picked an old protest song because I figured you wouldn’t know any of the newer ones,” she said.

  Nathan ignored her potshot at his age and pulled in front of the station. He knew from her California driver’s license she was twenty-five, five-foot-five, 135 pounds. She had spiky black hair in the photo. That had changed. Her hair was red now. He suspected she was the type always making some weird statement with her appearance—purple hair, mohawks, nose rings, tongue piercings. He’d seen it all, even in a small town like Rock Creek. He’d noticed Skye had a navel ring when she’d twitched her hips at him earlier, but there were no other visible piercings or tattoos.

  “Come on.” He opened the car door. “The show’s over.”

  “On the contrary.” Skye smiled. “It’s just beginning.”

  A crowd was gathered around the entryway to the police station, waving hastily made signs scribbled with markers and crayons.

  LET THE BELLY DANCER GO!

  FREE SKYE!

  LET MY MOMMY GO! This small sign was carried by a little girl. Skye’s four-year-old daughter.

&nb
sp; Nathan blocked the punch to his heart at the sight of the half-pint kid wearing a tutu with a pajama top, yellow boots, and a tiara.

  Get it together, he fiercely ordered himself. You have a situation here. You need to stay focused on that and not your own demons.

  These weren’t wacky outsiders protesting. They were locals. He knew them all. Sue Ellen Riley, known as “Our Lady of the Outlandish” when she’d lived in Serenity Falls earlier in the year. Owen Dunback. Nancy Crumpler, owner of the auto parts store a block away. Lulu Malick, goth teenager. Algee Washington, the big black guy who’d just opened a second Cosmic Comics store a few doors down from the station.

  Then there was Angel Wright, in her New Age grove. Skye’s mother. She was reprimanding him with some nonsense about releasing negative energy into the atmosphere, when Sister Mary joined the crowd.

  “I got a report of police brutality,” the nun said, “and someone needing my guidance.”

  “That would be him,” Skye replied, pointing in Nathan’s direction.

  Which made Nathan realize she’d taken off the handcuffs and put them on again, with her arms in front of her this time.

  Dammit! First chance he got, he was ordering new handcuffs. These were as old as the hills, and clearly defective.

  “What’s going on here, Nate?” Sister Mary demanded.

  “She was speeding.”

  “So you arrested her?”

  “She was driving without proof of insurance or registration. And she’s got outstanding tickets in three states out west,” Nathan said.

  “Which I offered to pay,” Owen added.

  Sister Mary turned her eagle eye on Nathan. “In that case, what’s the problem?”

  Despite being a lapsed Catholic, Nathan almost squirmed before stopping himself. “She resisted arrest.”