The Rebel Returns. Michelle Douglas

be kissing them. And with each passing day it was getting harder to keep Cleo at arm’s length.

      Not only was he painfully attracted to her, but her passion for life made him want to set out on a new adventure. He found himself daydreaming about having a full life—no longer spending his days chained to a desk and computer. His thoughts trailed back to Hope Springs with its wide-open spaces and its endless possibilities. But most of all, he envisioned Cleo by his side.

      However, for that to happen, he’d have to sentence her to an eventual life of caring for an ill man with a tenuous future—only to wind up a young widow. Cold fingers of apprehension gripped his throat, cutting off his breath. He refused to do that to Cleo. He banished the unsettling thoughts to the back of his mind. No matter how tempting a life with her might seem, he couldn’t put her in that horrendous situation.

      With the blue bag in hand, he returned to the family room, where Cleo had turned on the big-screen TV. A fashion design competition was on. “I take it you still enjoy clothes.”

      She nodded while rummaging through the oversize bag and pulling out a sketch pad and a pack of pencils.

      “Some things don’t change.”

      “Did you find Charlie?” She glanced at him expectantly.

      He’d forgotten about the furball. Where in the world did he even begin to look for the cat?

      As though reading his mind, Cleo said, “You’ll have to get down on all fours. He likes to nap in cozy, dark spots.”

      Jax expelled a sigh. He might as well start in here. “Here kitty, kitty.”

      He crawled around on the floor looking under every piece of furniture in the room. There was no cat to be found.

      Jax sat up on his knees next to Cleo. “He isn’t in here.” His gaze moved to the sketch pad in her hands. “What are you doing?”

      She jerked the pad against her chest. “Why?”

      “I’m curious.”

      “You’ll just laugh.”

      “Why would I laugh? Obviously you’re drawing something that’s important to you. I’m just curious what it is.”

      Her shoulders drooped and the lines in her face eased. “It’s just that when I was growing up my brothers would always poke fun at my drawings. I guess I didn’t realize, until now, how touchy I’ve become.”

      “Can I see? I promise to be on my best behavior.”

      Her mouth pulled to the side as she thought it over before she nodded. When she turned the pad around, he sat up straighter, truly interested. There was the outline of a woman with no face, but the details were in the soft pink dress with a long skirt and a halter-style top.

      “That’s impressive.” He meant it. “Instead of going to college to become an accountant, you should have considered pursuing art.”

      “You really think it’s that good.”

      He nodded. “If I had to draw it, there’d be a stick figure on the page. It wouldn’t be that good of one, either. And as for the clothes, um...do rectangles and squares count?”

      “I don’t think so. They’d be awfully uncomfortable.”

      The rays from Cleo’s smile filled his chest with warmth. Until that moment he hadn’t realized how empty his life had been, even before the cancer. Sure, he had his work, and his amazing success at such a young age was very rewarding. But when he returned to his apartment in the evenings, it was dark and empty. There wasn’t so much as a fish or a Charlie waiting for him.

      He didn’t know how he’d ever go back to that solitary life after sharing this place with Cleo...and her furball. The cat really wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, he rather liked the little guy, which was probably a good thing since the cat had taken to snuggling up on his chest when he was sleeping. He’d surprisingly grown used to Charlie’s nightly visits.

      Jax knew he was setting himself up for a fall because this arrangement was not permanent—no matter how much he might like it to be otherwise. But he had resolved not to fight it. There was no harm in enjoying Cleo’s company—as long as he kept his hands to himself.

      “So what do you do with your drawings?”

      “Actually they are sketches of clothes I plan to make.” Her eyes never left his, as though she was anxious to gauge his reaction. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

      “I don’t know what to say except...wow! You’re a lady of many talents.”

      “You’re really impressed?”

      “Of course I am. Did you make what you’re wearing now?”

      His gaze moved to the pink-and-white tiny T-shirt and gray sweat shorts. It didn’t matter what she wore, she always looked beautiful.

      Cleo shook her head. “I only make dress clothes like the ones you saw me in at the Glamour Hotel.”

      “Have you been doing this for long?”

      She nodded. “My grandmother taught me how to sew at an early age. She was a very patient woman. More so than I could ever hope to be.”

      He glanced through her sketchbook. Each drawing was more impressive than the last. “Have you sent these out to professionals?”

      Color infused her cheeks. “I couldn’t do that.”

      He caught the uncertainty in her eyes. “I’m no expert, but I think you should follow your dream. If you want I can make some calls.”

      “No!” She grabbed the sketch pad from him. “I already know my clothes aren’t good enough. I’ve been told they’re too frivolous. It’d be a waste of time.”

      Anger warmed his veins. “And who told you that?”

      “My parents. They said that if I insisted on going to college that I must take up a skill that was practical and would eventually provide me with a substantial income when I finished.”

      He wanted to argue with her and those misconceptions that her parents drilled into her head. They had stolen her dreams. And now he was determined to find a way to give them back to her.

      Jax sat down on the carpet and leaned an elbow on the couch near Cleo’s pink-painted toes. “Boy, your parents were more set in their ways than I ever imagined.”

      “Now you’re seeing why I moved across the country for college and why I was arguing with my father...”

      Not wanting her to return to that dark, quiet place where she locked him out, he said, “So this sketch, is it an outfit for yourself?”

      Her gaze snapped back from that faraway look. “Um...no. It’s actually for Robyn. She’s always going on about my clothes and how pretty they are, which is so sweet. Anyway she wanted me to make an outfit for her. It’s nice to have someone appreciate my efforts.”

      If Cleo ever hoped to make peace with her mother, she had to lighten up on her. Maybe he could try to help bridge that gap. He hated the thought of Cleo with no family. He wouldn’t wish a solitary existence on anyone, especially when he knew as sure as he was sitting there that deep down where it counted, her mother loved her.

      “Cleo, did you ever think that maybe your parents saw your fashion magazines and your high-class creations as a rejection of the life they chose to lead? Or maybe they were afraid that if they encouraged you to follow your dreams that you’d up and leave Hope Springs—leave them.”

      A light shone in her eyes. “But I never looked down on them or the ranch. It’s my...was my home.”

      “But every time you complained about having to ride the fence line or feed the herd, maybe they took it as a strike against their lifestyle. I’m not saying it was right what they said or how they made you feel, but maybe they thought