It had never occurred to Jo that Sam's old pack might come claiming him back some day; for all she knew they had no idea where he was, and the fact that they could probably trace him hadn't crossed her mind. But if they did she would fight to keep him. Not that he was property, but he was sort-of 'theirs' now, and he was, by all accounts, much better off. You needed only see Sam interacting with other wolves (or other people) to realize that. It was about more than the fact that she really kind of liked him around, it was about the fact that regardless of how she felt about him, his old pack had done a number on him and he was simply better off with the Summers. It was the right thing to do, and Jo was all about fighting for the right thing.
The second time his eyes met hers it was Jo who looked away because she hadn't the time or the brain power to deal with whatever kind of fluttering insect in her stomach kept cropping up whenever he did that. However, after a few moments of silence as she felt his gaze change, Jo looked back up. She was as good at reading expressions as any visual artist should be (if they liked to paint portraits, anyway), and while she was thankful he didn't look freaked out she was sad to find it was only because he hadn't quite understood her. "You're my friend, Sam." She blurted out, once again really angry at his old pack for making the concept so foreign it needed further explaining. "You're a member of my pack and you're my friend, I like you, so I'm sketching you." Jo put down the pencil, drawing a breath. "It's like, okay, I don't think this will ever happen, but imagine I have to leave. I have to go away somewhere, for a long while, and I can't take you all with me. So, I take the sketches." Of course she could take pictures but that wouldn't be the same, not for her, and you could ask her why all you wanted, she wouldn't be able to tell you. "I take a bit of you with me, and I feel a little less alone." She shrugged.