Imperfect Rebel Read Online Free

the skeleton, I swear to you..."
    Uh-oh. Sounds as if the yuppie moron was recovering. They didn't need her. She'd just mosey along out of here—
    "Hallucinating," a stage whisper carried over the descriptive yelling. "We'd better send him on to Charleston."
    "Well, we've had reports of other pranks out there. If he ain't been drinking, might orter look into it. His car was pretty much totaled."
    The sheriff. Shit. Shoot. Double-d bad word as Maya always said. She didn't need the sheriff snooping around. There was no telling what kind of ordinances or laws or who knows what she'd broken, and if he found out how Gene and his sister were living... She wouldn't let that happen, upon penalty of death. Those kids did not deserve the fate the sheriff would unthinkingly assign them.
    Straightening her shoulders beneath the checked flannel shirt, fighting an unreasonable panic bubbling up from the murky depths of her past, Cleo shoved her half glasses up her nose and tried to look respectable as she invaded the back room.
    She didn't know why all southern sheriffs seemed to be massive men with big bellies, but the town's man with a badge didn't disappoint. He sported a bristly straight mustache to make up for his receding hairline, and turned an unfriendly gaze to Cleo. But then, she'd never seen a law official with a friendly gaze.
    The dark-haired, dark-eyed man lying in the bed with a bandage taped to his high brow was still shouting about witches and skeletons and feathers, but the instant he spotted her, his long-lashed eyes narrowed. "There she is. Tell him I'm not crazy," he demanded.
    He was even cuter in one of those horrid blue hospital gowns. Cleo had a weakness for the lean, hungry Cassius types, although this one didn't look as if he'd starved anytime in the near past. His shoulders bulged interestingly as he lifted his nearly six-foot frame up on one elbow. She didn't want to do this. She really didn't. Her only hope was that he'd take one look at the run-down shack and flee in the opposite direction. She'd concentrate on the power of positive thinking.
    She quit looking at sin and turned to the nurse instead. Recognizing the petite redhead as a customer, Cleo marginally relaxed and pulled the business card from her pocket.
    "He is crazy," she said with all solemnity, "but that's his natural disposition and not a result of the accident. He's considering renting my beach house, which proves my point. If he's all right, I can take him there." Maybe that would keep The Jerk from getting ideas about lawsuits.
    The patient in the bed cast her a disbelieving glance. Well, at least she'd shut him up.
    The nurse passed the card on to the sheriff. "There's some possibility of concussion, and he's been raving since he woke. I don't know..."
    "I'm not raving! I tell you, there was a snake three feet long—" he shouted furiously.
    "Jared McCloud?" The sheriff read the card aloud. "Cartoonist?" He lifted his balding head and stared. " The Jared McCloud? The guy who does Scapegrace ?"
    The man in the bed waved his hand impatiently and glared at Cleo. "Tell him. Tell him there was a witch and a skeleton. Then maybe he'll believe the snake."
    "A witch, a skeleton, three clowns, and a Prince Charming," she agreed soberly. "It was a very grand affair."
    Scapegrace ? This jerk wrote the comic strip about the teenage nerd? She couldn't believe he'd ever been a nerd in his life. She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows at his glower.
    "Hell, I'd be honored to take you wherever you like, Mr. McCloud." The sheriff intruded on their staring match. "My kids fight to see who gets to your strip first. He ready to travel, Dixie?"
    Cleo cursed a mental blue streak. Now look what the rat had done. He'd have the sheriff out there inspecting her premises, and she sure as hell didn't need that. She'd just sacrificed her privacy to spring him out of here—for nothing.
    Eyes widening as if he'd read her mind, The Jared McCloud suddenly grinned like