Imperfect Rebel (42 page)

"I'm working," Jared growled back. "I'll eat later. We'll talk when I get back to the house."

"No, we won't. Mother will talk when we get back to the house. Eat now. I brought your mail." Tim paced back and forth across the studio floor, not restlessly, but searching for the right cord to pull in a tangled web of wires.

"Touch that plug and die," Jared warned, knowing his brother's capacity for destructive action. "I don't have this saved yet. Did the mail bring a contract for a million dollars? Otherwise, I'm not interested."

"There's a big envelope from that podunk town in the Carolinas."

Jared hit the Save key. Rising from the computer, he ignored Tim's quizzical expression as he reached for the manila envelope instead of the food. "I sent Cleo a drafting software program," he explained, as if that meant anything to his brother at all.

"I thought that thing with her was all over." Tim opened the restaurant bag and poked around the cardboard boxes, looking for his order.

Settling into an easy chair with stuffing popping from the worn seams, Jared held the envelope warily, trying to guess what surprise Cleo had in store for him. She never answered his phone calls, and her taciturn replies to his email hadn't been encouraging. It took every patient cell in his body not to pursue his earlier tactics of showing up at her door and wearing her down. He had to have the confidence in her that she didn't have in herself. Yet.

At least her attorney had kept in touch. The feds had agreed to drop their case and remove all charges against Cleo in return for the lawyer dropping his suit. She was a free woman, technically. She'd sent him a cigar when Matty had been released to her. He kept it in his shirt pocket.

"Cleo has issues," he asserted, wondering if he ought to postpone opening the envelope until Tim left.

"Yeah, right, who doesn't?" Tim took one of the retro aluminum-and-vinyl dinette chairs that had collected in the studio, and using chopsticks, pried a piece of pork from the box he'd chosen. "That mean she walked instead of you?"

"She didn't
walk
." Jared grimaced as the smell of Chinese hit him. He couldn't remember when he'd last eaten. "Give me some of the chow mein." He grabbed the box handed to him, procrastinating over opening Cleo's envelope. "Unlike some others around here that I could name, she has this weird idea I'm some kind of super hero and too good for her, and she doesn't want to ruin my future. Like I said, she has issues."

"Yeah, she's crazy." Tim dug into his rice while organizing the chaos of papers cluttering the table. "You're thirty-two, broke, and living at home. Maybe you're the one who's crazy, and she's being polite."

Jared snickered at the idea of Cleo being polite. "I'm not broke," he protested in his own defense. "I just have all my cash invested in the future. This project will make more money than the Hollywood one ever would have. Cleo doesn't care about
money
." He knew that much. Finding a woman who thought him so special that she didn't deserve him had him totally flummoxed, though. How the hell did he overcome that attitude? Fail?

He had thought focusing totally on the script would help him get through these lonely months without Cleo. It hadn't. Rather than sell himself out, he'd organized his own team of animators and experienced film editors and whatnot, in hopes they would drive Cleo's haunting laughter out of his head. They hadn't.

He'd stayed up nights rather than sleep in his bed without her arms wrapping around him. Remembering her tears drove him to new heights of fantasy that had his creative team believing he lived in Oz, or at the very least, La-La Land. He wanted to be with her, craved the brush of her skin against his, and needed the taunt of her voice grounding his wilder schemes. He needed Cleo like a martini needed vodka.

He kept hoping Cleo would regain her senses and let him come back.

He glanced at the envelope in his lap. He didn't think Cleo would ask him to come back in an oversized letter.

Tim was regarding him oddly, and Jared dug into his food rather than explain. Trying to explain Cleo would be akin to trying to depict the sun rising to a blind man.

"She thinks you're a superhero and doesn't care about money," Tim said solemnly, as if working through one of his theories on the origins of racial diversity. "Sounds to me like you ought to be down there on bended knee, snatching her up before someone else gets her."

Jared choked on a laugh and a mouthful of noodles. "No one
gets
Cleo," he managed to say after swallowing. He grinned again at the double entendre. "That's the whole damned problem. I can
get
any woman I want. I can
have
Cleo. That isn't the same thing as Cleo agreeing that we belong together. I'm not settling for less, and she won't settle for more. She won't be pushed, so I'm waiting for her to come around on her own."

Tim stared at him as if he'd just announced martinis were more nourishing than milk. "You're waiting for a woman to come around instead of chasing after her?"

Jared sighed and glared at the envelope. "Yeah, ironic, ain't it?" Not only ironic, but futile, he was coming to suspect. He'd hoped it would only take a week or two before Cleo realized what she'd thrown away. It had been over two damned months. Maybe he had a little higher opinion of himself than he'd realized. Maybe he ought to crawl.

Cleo would just tell him he couldn't take no for an answer and slam the door in his face.

He didn't like the sinking sensation in his stomach at that scenario. He much preferred optimism. He'd figured if he worked hard, stayed focused, and tried not to think too much about how it felt to wake up to mischievous green eyes and a wicked mind that matched his in every way... Kind of hard to focus thinking like that.

"You're saying you offered her
marriage
?" Tim asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, got a problem with that?" Irritated, Jared set aside the Chinese box and tore the end off the envelope. Cleo was a stubborn brat, but she wasn't stupid. Surely she knew what they had together was special. She just needed time, that's all.

"And she
refused
?"

Tim had his own problems, Jared reflected, pulling out sheets of drawings. Maybe McClouds weren't intended for marriage. Maybe Cleo was right and he should just move in with her.

He twisted the computer generated drawing in his hand and frowned in puzzlement, then grinned as he realized Gene had reproduced his version of a wrestling match. Not quite his sister's talent, but a warm spot burned hotter in his gut at the thought of Cleo teaching the kid how to use the program he'd sent.

The court had let Gene go, as Cleo had predicted. They'd slapped Linda into a drug program and the kids had gone into foster care. At least Cleo's hand-picked foster parents were intelligent enough to allow generous visiting privileges. Cleo had the kids as often as the foster parents did.

To hell with living together. He wanted this contrary woman to be
his
. Primitive male instinct clamored for placing his claim on her.

He'd lose what little he retained of his senses thinking she could leave him at a moment's whim. She'd taught him what he wanted was important, and he couldn't think of anything more important than hearing Cleo vow to spend her life with him.

Forgetting Tim, he shuffled through the rest of the papers. Kismet hadn't attempted the drafting program. She'd sent colorful pencil drawings of butterflies with faces he didn't recognize—possibly her foster parents or teachers. He wished he knew. He wanted to be involved in their lives. After the vivid fullness of Cleo's cluttered world, he'd developed a loathing for the sterile shallowness of his single life.

A giant red dragon and a laughing blue clown denoted Matty's attempts at art. Cleo's son had inherited her directness, if not her complexity. Give the kid time. Jared glanced over his shoulder at the doll-sized merry-go-round of flying witches and dancing skeletons a friend had made from his sketches. He'd hoped to be down there by Christmas to give it to Matty. Perhaps he should fly down and appear on their doorstep without an invitation.

He was afraid to study the last sheet of paper in the bunch. He could tell by the intricacy of the computerized plan that Cleo had applied her stubborn brain to learning the software so she could produce it. He wondered if she filled her lonely nights with a computer as he did. He shuffled her drawing to the top and glanced briefly at the three dimensions of her newest mechanical creature. Captain Hook.

He knew he didn't want to examine it closer, so he handed the stack to Tim and reached for his cold Chinese. His stomach rebelled, but he stuck the chopsticks in rather than think.

Tim chuckled at the drawing. "Looks just like you, with kind of a movie star flair. Tom Cruise in sunglasses, I'd say."

Jared sank lower into the chair. "Tom Cruise as Captain Hook?" Maybe he'd read the message wrong.

"Nah, it's definitely you, with long curly hair and shades. Better-looking, admittedly. If that's how she sees you, then you've got her snared. All you need to do is go down and reel her in."

"You didn't happen to notice what Hook is holding, did you?" Jared covered his eyes with his palm but nothing could make the pain disappear.

"Sure, Tinkerbelle in a cage. Isn't that the story?"

"Evil Captain Hook holds Tinkerbelle hostage," Jared agreed glumly. He didn't have to look closer to know whose face Tinkerbelle wore.

He wondered if Captain Hook was a promotion or demotion from Peter Pan.

Either way, it wasn't an invitation to Christmas dinner.

Chapter 35

December, South Carolina

Waking to the sound of
Santa Claus is Coming to Town
, Cleo grumbled sleepily, curled around her pillow, and snuggled closer to a body that wasn't there.

Shit.

Two damned months, and she couldn't rid her bed of Jared's laughing presence.

Fully awake now and not wanting to be, she flipped over and glared at the ceiling. Maybe she should paint the plaster blue and ask Maya to paint rainbows. Or storm clouds. Whatever.

She'd almost finished the attic, and with winter setting in, she couldn't do much else to the house except decorate. She didn't have much experience at decorating, but she could learn, she supposed.

She'd painted a big slate board on Matty's wall so he could draw to his heart's content. He seemed happy here, although he occasionally complained of missing his cousins. Still, the school board had accepted her proposal to finance special tutors for kids who needed extra help, and Matty loved his tutor, so he was doing okay.

She'd thought that was all she needed to be happy. As usual, she was wrong.

Remembering whispered jokes and sizzling kisses in the early dawn, and intimate breakfasts in bed, Cleo snatched off her covers and got up. Jared haunted her. She swore that man was a ghost who lurked in corners, prepared to leap out when she least expected him.

Maya had apparently shown Matty the
Scapegrace
comic in the paper and told him who drew it, so Matty demanded she read it to him every morning. The nerd in the strip had taken on more heroic qualities lately, so she didn't mind, except she spent the rest of the day wondering what Jared was doing to set his leap-frogging mind down that track.

It didn't help that Gene talked about him all the time, she thought morosely, climbing into her jeans and dragging on a sweater. She and Marta had canvassed three counties looking for people willing to take in Gene and Kismet. It had been tough, but they'd found an older couple with a farm willing to give two wild kids a chance. Gene still had an attitude, but he and Jared e-mailed each other regularly, so he was cool. For now. His constant references to Jared kept the ghost alive though.

"Mommy!" Matty burst through her bedroom door and flung his skinny arms around her legs as she put down her brush. "Is Santa comin' tomorrow?"

She ruffled his shaggy dark hair, and even that reminded her of Jared's sable locks. His impromptu hug tugged all the weak links in her heart. "Nope, not tomorrow. We don't even have a tree up yet. Want to make paper chains to go on it?"

"Yeah!" He shot back out of the room, hell-bent on doing everything at once. Not unlike a certain man she knew.

"Mommy!" Matty eagerly looked up as she strolled into the kitchen. She grimaced at the newspaper he'd spread across the table. "Jared drew Santa Claus. What does it say?"