The children were clustering around her, clamoring for a look. They had long ago decided they quite liked this beautiful new "aunt" of theirs with the lovely voice that could sing them to sleep, or impress their friends with the latest rock and roll; they flocked to her like little bears to honey.
Chance sternly called for calm. He was still, even two weeks later, feeling very protective of Shea. He'd never, he thought, get over the sense of her fragility that had swamped him as he'd watched her fighting to bring his son into the world.
The doctor had told him that the first one was sometimes difficult, but he hadn't been prepared for what she'd gone through. And he'd found it hard to believe when they told him that she'd quickly decide the pain had been worth it the moment she held the baby, but it seemed to be true. Women, he had concluded, were remarkable.
"He has your nose, Shea," Celeste announced positively, "and Chance's eyes."
"And his stubborn chin," Quisto put in with a chuckle. The baby yawned, unimpressed.
"As long as he has his father's heart, I don't care about the rest," Shea said quietly.
Celeste nodded in warm approval, while Chance looked faintly pink and absurdly pleased.
"He will be a big, strong boy," Celeste predicted.
"He'd better be," Chance said with a grin, "if he's going to hold his own with this crew."
"So, partner," Quisto cut in, "you gonna tell us his name now that we've met him at last?"
Shea smiled in anticipation as she looked back at her husband's partner. Then she turned to Chance, and he took the still-yawning baby from her carefully.
"Hey, little one, wake up a second. You're about to be introduced to this madcap clan."
In response to his father's coaxing voice, the clear blue eyes opened and fastened in seeming wonder on the face above him. He cooed happily, lifting a tiny hand toward his father's face. Chance grinned, propped his son carefully in the crook of one strong arm and turned to face the gathered group. His other arm went around Shea. When he spoke, his voice was full of a pride in them both that he didn't even try to conceal. And when he spoke, it was to all of them, but his eyes were on Quisto.
"I'd like you all to meet Sean Rafael Buckner."
There was a second of silence as it registered, then came an uproar from several of the watchers—those old enough to know Quisto's given name. From Celeste came a pleased exclamation, rattled quickly off in Spanish.
Quisto just stared, a little pale. "You can't… Chance, you … you should name him after your father!"
"My old man told me a long time ago that if I ever hung 'Eugene' on a kid of mine, he'd never forgive me. So it's Shea's father and you, partner."
The usually glib Quisto seemed speechless. He blinked rapidly, eyes that were suspiciously bright.
"Besides," Shea added quietly, "if it hadn't been for you, he might not even be here."
Quisto moved then, suddenly, sweeping Shea into a tremendous hug.
"Ah, querida, you honor me. And you make me wonder if there isn't truly something to this love thing." He looked over her shoulder at Chance and the baby. "What do you say, amigo? Is there another one like her out there?"
Chance shook his head. "She's one of a kind." He gave her a look so full of love and tenderness that Shea blushed. Then he grinned at Quisto. "But you're going to meet your match someday, my friend. I just hope I'm there to see it."
They all laughed, and Quisto bore the teasing with admirable equanimity. Yet more than once Chance or Shea caught him looking at them thoughtfully, and had to smile at the way he tenderly handled his tiny namesake as he carried him around like a doting uncle, whispering silly things about everyone in little Sean's tiny ear.
And later, as Chance rocked the small cradle with a strong, steady hand, Shea sang their son to sleep with the love song she'd written for his father.
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ONE LAST CHANCE Page 25
