Authors: Susan Elizabeth Phillips
It amazed him that Honey could thank him when she was the one who had given him everything.
She finished to wild applause and was escorted off into the wings. He knew that she would head first
for the greenroom and their two-month-old son. Only after she had gathered up Andrew would she go
to the reporters waiting to interview her.
In addition to questioning her about her career, he suspected the press would also ask her about the special camp for abused children the two of them had built on the site of the former Silver Lake Amusement Park. Honey had a theory that Black Thunder might help just a few of the children heal. Although he'd ridden Black Thunder dozens of times over the past three years, he had never found it to be anything more than a thrilling ride. However, when he'd been foolish enough to offer this opinion to Honey and Rachel, they had both been so outraged that he'd vowed to keep his mouth shut in the future.
The ceremony was drawing to a close when an all-too-familiar voice echoed in his head.
You've done
all right by her, son. I'm proud of you.
Eric suppressed a groan. Not now. Ever since Rachel had taken that damned roller-coaster ride . . .
His rational mind knew that he wasn't really hearing Dash Coogan's voice.
After all, Honey never heard him, so why should he? But his irrational mind—
That was another story entirely.
Rachel leaned across her sister and whispered, "Honey did good, didn't she, Daddy?"
He swallowed a lump in his throat and gazed at both of his daughters. "She did real good, sweetheart. Real good."
Damned right she did,
the voice said.
He shifted in his seat, not altogether displeased with the idea that his family just might have a cowboy guardian angel looking out for them.
* * *
Three hours later, after the celebrations and congratulations were behind them, Eric and Honey moved through the bedrooms of their quiet house hand in hand, Honey in her golden gown, shoes kicked off, hair tousled; Eric with his bow tie undone and collar open. They went from one child to the next, straightening the covers, rescuing a teddy bear, removing a thumb from a small mouth. They stepped
over toys and books, adjusted night-lights, and removed a leaking squirt gun from beneath a pink-and-lavender pillow.
Only when they were reassured that each child was safe for the night did they go to their own room
and turn to each other.
They were finally home.
Author's Note
I am deeply indebted to the following people and organizations: Tim Cole, who designed Black Thunder and served as my patient and enthusiastic technical adviser.
Randy Geisler and The American Coaster Enthusiasts. The National Down Syndrome Congress.
My friends and fellow authors, who answered all the questions I couldn't: Joan Johnston, Jayne Ann Krentz, Kathleen Gilles Seidel. And Meryl Sawyer, for help above and beyond the call of duty.
Linda Barlow for her thoughtful critique and unflagging friendship.
Steve Axelrod for his continued wise counsel, and Claire Zion for her insights and support.
The members of my family who give me so much.
And my readers, who continue to enrich my life with their warmth and enthusiasm.
Susan Elizabeth Phillips c/o Pocket Books 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020
Table of Contents
Table of Contents