Imperfect Rebel by Patricia Rice

would last longer, even if they were more work. Besides, she liked the cottage look of the light wood and shadows it created. She might not be much on decorating, but she knew good material. With some dark Charleston green on the shutters, the place would look comfortable and welcoming someday. Pity a good coat of paint wouldn't do the same for her.
    From up here, she could watch the steady stream of cars and trucks and motorcycles roaring down her private drive to Jared's place on the beach. He must have invited the whole effing town for a party, except her. She would figure he'd done it to get even, but she didn't think she rated that high on a celebrity's priority list.
    Maybe she ought to build a widow's walk on the roof, a tower that loomed over the trees so she could have a view of the ocean. Sitting up and rubbing her aching back, Cleo contemplated the view from here. She couldn't see the beach house or the couples frolicking on the sand, only the distant lapping of waves toward shore. It was all the view she needed.
    She wondered how Jared managed to know so many people after being here only a couple of weeks, but it wasn't any of her business. Country club sorts learned to socialize from birth. Despite his weird occupation, she pegged him for the country club type. He'd probably already been golfing over at Hilton Head. He should have stayed there instead of invading her primitive jungle.
    Wistfully, she glanced up the road in the direction from which Matty should be arriving—except he wouldn't be here this weekend. Maya and Axell had promised the kids a trip to the zoo in Columbia, and Matty had wanted to go with them. They'd invited Cleo. She probably should have gone. It wasn't as if Maya and her upright pillar-of-the-community husband would lead her astray. She just hadn't been up to watching a happy family at play, knowing she was deficient in whatever it took to create that same ambiance for Matty.
    She probably ought to go down and write something revealing in her journal right now, like: "I know I'm good and getting better, but I'm still a work in progress." Yeah, like that was real helpful.
    From this viewpoint, she could see Kismet sitting on a log in the menagerie, scribbling in her sketchbook. Gene had the pig out, playing with it. Normal people had cats and dogs. She had pigs and iguanas. If the counselor wanted proof of her weirdness, he'd find it right there. People didn't give her unwanted cats and dogs. They gave her unwanted creatures . That was bound to say something about her personality.
    Wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist, Cleo decided it was time for a break. She'd take the kids some lemonade. Their mother had lost her job last week and disappeared into the city. Again. She didn't have the heart to tell them that one of these days, their mother might not come home at all. She'd hate to see those kids lost in the vast wilderness of an underpaid, overworked Social Services department. She knew firsthand how children got lost in the system.
    Maybe she'd talk to Linda again, when and if she returned. The AA program in town wasn't much help for crack addicts, but it was better than nothing. She could take her to one of the meetings, maybe make her feel comfortable by introducing her to a few of the others. As if she'd ever made anyone feel comfortable in her life.
    Snorting at the idea, Cleo climbed down. Stick with lemonade. That was at least something she knew how to do.
    The kids started chattering the instant she carried the tray of glasses into their hideaway. They blossomed with a little attention, and for a brief moment, she felt as if she'd finally learned to do something right. Then she noticed how proudly they showed off their new clothes, and she knew she had only done it half right. Jared had gone all the way by interfering where she never would.
    And she'd been wrong. Linda hadn't come after him with a hatchet for buying the kids what she couldn't afford. If it had been