Available now at New Concepts Publishing
http://www.newconceptspublishing.com/lovingluke.htm

ISBN 978-1-60394-182-2

LOVING LUKE

A wrong number leads Chere Palmer to the biggest surprise of her life – Luke Fisher. Trusting Luke isn’t easy as his past catches up with him and one confession leads to several. Chere has to decide - walk away now or spend her life Loving Luke.

EXCERPT

Climbing into the Mustang, Luke dropped the seat back and settled in to call the tow truck and maybe snap a nap until it arrived. At least he could run the engine and create a cool breeze with the air conditioning system and avoid the humid night air, not to mention outwitting the mosquitoes. He picked up his cell phone and keyed in the number on his roadside assistance card and waited for someone to answer.

A silky smooth voice with just the barest whisper of the South greeted him. He rattled off his name and roadside assistance insurance number and waited for her to ask all the usual questions for filling out her forms. There was silence on the other end of the connection.

“Did you get all that?” he asked her. Her reply startled him.

“I’m sure you think you’re funny, but you’re not. Don’t call this number again.”

The connection went dead with a click. What the fuck?

He dialed the number again and the same voice answered, only a little less pleasant this time. Well, he was feeling a bit less pleasant, too. He paid a lot of money for roadside service and he expected to get it when he called for it. He was too tired, too hot and sweaty waiting for the car’s air conditioning to get up to speed, to tolerate games.

“Listen, whoever you are, I need roadside assistance. Just stop playing your little game and send the tow truck. You got that?”

“Me? I’m playing games? Listen, bucko, I don’t know who you think you’re calling, but I’m not a tow truck driver and you’re bloody well on your own.” The connection broke.

He looked at his phone, dismayed. Could he just have one thing go his way between now and dawn? He hit the redial. When she answered this time, she was hopping mad.

“Now you listen to me you smarmy son-of-a-bitch. You call me again and I’ll have the cops on you so fast you won’t know what the hell happened to you. Do you hear me?”

Well. Maybe he’d better try to be very nice and see where it got him. He felt more human since the air conditioning finally blew cool air at him. 

“Ma’am, I hear you. I need a tow truck and I dialed the number on my roadside assistance card. I’m really sorry to be bothering you if you’re not the agency listed.”

Nothing but complete silence. Had she disconnected again? “Hello?”

“Mister, are you telling me the truth?” Some of the anger left her voice.

“Lady, I don’t have energy to be jerking your chain and I wouldn’t lie unless there was a sub-machine gun pointed at my head. I need a tow truck.” He gave her the name of his insurance company. “Are you someplace you could maybe look up that number for me?”

He looked over at the only other car left on the lot, parked under a bright pole light. A pretty woman with long dark hair sat behind the wheel talking on a cell phone. She turned her head just enough that he saw most of her face.

“I’m sorry but I don’t have a phonebook in my purse. Call information, why don’t you?”

His mouth dropped open. He snapped it closed.

“Ma’am, I’m sitting in the parking lot of O’Malley’s with a flat tire --”

The woman in the other car jumped then turned to face him fully. Even across twelve dark parking spaces he saw the surprise on her face. He got out of his car and walked around to the passenger side and pointed at his front tire.

“See? It’s really flat.”

“Um, I see that.”

Luke hopped up on the hood of his car and waved at her. “Hi. I’m Luke.”

She raised her hand and wiggled her fingers at him. “Hi. I’m Chere.”

 ***

For more on Loving Luke, please visit www.rayneforrest.com/LovingLuke.html

Also now avalable - Surrendered Victory by KC Kendricks
Rayne Forrest
www.rayneforrest.com
Sexual Deceptions - coming soon
Through a Glass Brightly

That's what Madris DePasture wrote in a New Concepts announcement letter addressed to her authors in 2002/2003.

It would seem that even as far back as that, Madris lacked a certain finesse when dealing with her writers.

Because I'm a bad, bad girl, let me post this warning that she included within one of the letters:

Please remember, this page is ONLY for NCP authors, so don’t give out the address to anyone else. There is no link on the main site going to the Author Lounge, so be sure to bookmark it. The address is http://www.newconceptspublishing.com/authorlounge33.htm

Ooops, again.

That should get some of the authors at the Romance Divas forum anxiously wringing their hands. Yes, I know, I am the devil herself.

Let me post you some snippets anyway, after all, the devil has no conscience:

“Any author who has NOT fulfilled the terms of their contract, or in any other manner behaved unprofessionally, been verbally abusive or just uncooperative, who demands the release of their book, may or may not be given permission to withdraw.

If money has been exchanged and/or time and effort put into marketing your book, we might then decide NOT to release you from your contractual obligations. It’s entirely up to you whether or not you wish to hire a lawyer to regain the rights. If we do decide to relinquish the rights, and state as much via email, do NOT expect to receive further written confirmation just to make you comfortable.

We will not go to any extraordinary lengths to soothe your fears. You are not welcome to submit again at a later time when we have managed to build a market and your work will never be considered again by New Concepts Publishing.

Charming woman.

For those of you who don’t understand and get nervous when you don’t hear anything and want to be continually updated on any and all progress… I’m sorry, but we just don’t have time to hold hands right now. Please repeat this mantra…..NCP is a business with much work to do.

As long as the website is there, they are there. If the phone is busy, it’s a good thing. If my emails have not been answered it’s because they are busy doing the work publishers do in order to stay in business and sell books. I am not being ignored because I’m not important, or because they’re thinking about dumping me. They are busy and I am allowing my fertile imagination to conjure paranoia.

Good grief.

Otherwise, keep in mind that your reputation is our reputation and our reputation is your reputation. If NCP is thought well of, then our authors have status as our authors. If our authors are thought poorly of, then NCP is not considered a good publisher. Whatever doubts or anxieties you might have, when you make NCP look bad, it makes you look bad.

Watch what you say, where you say it and to whom you say it. Don’t share your hysteria, anxieties or disappointments. Don’t play the blame game. Whether you realize it or not, YOU always get tarred with that feather.

I realize that people are either confident, or not. Nothing anyone can say or do can build confidence in those who lack it. Everything anyone says or does can further deteriorate a fragile confidence. However, I am sick to death of hearing ‘we’re not as good as’ NY, or any other publisher for that matter.

I have a feeling she's not that big on trying to build confidence in the first place.

Rumor has it that Ellora’s Cave is so desperate for ‘romantica’ that they’re asking their authors to add sex scenes to previously written books. Anyone who’s been in the business for a while, and learned their craft, will know that this is a formula that will generally not click.

Hehe, she dissed Elloras Cave. That should go down well with the folks over at EC. We all know how precious they can be.

Before I go further, I need to address one serious problem that frequently rears it’s ugly head in this business, particularly when I try to talk shop to our authors—jealousy. I do understand that this is something that is a part of some people’s nature, hard to control and hard to combat. However, it is a totally useless and unproductive emotion. If it empowered a person to strive harder, then it would have some use. I’ve yet to see that—I’m not saying it couldn’t happen, but in general it just causes problems.

Set your jealousy aside. The plain, hard, indisputable fact of life in publishing is that you are an entertainer. Sometimes your ideas appeal, sometimes not. I wish I knew the exact formula to produce highly successful books every time, but no one knows that. Even authors who regularly sell well occasionally write one that flops, and usually some that do not perform as well as others—this isn’t an exact science and it is useless to try to compare your books to anyone else’s.

Hey, it's not all bad, she does give props to one of her authors:

Now, having said that, I want to give credit where it’s due, Autumn Dawn ‘lucked’ out by writing a wonderfully appealing book, effective promotion, and being in the right place at the right time with the right story.

I wonder she couldn't just say the author in question did a good job, without having to say that her success was due to 'luck'?

What a great ambassador for her business eh? I can't believe how bad she is at addressing her writers. It is possible to write a communication document without leaving the recipients feeling like they just had a fight with a cruise missile.

Oh, and for those folks over at Romance Divas who insist on wringing their hands over the legality of posting Madris' e-mail, and discussing whether it should have been posted in the first place, rather than concentrating on the fact that your fellow authors are being shafted left, right, and centre, let's hope you're never in the same position as Ellen Ashe eh?

Thanks to you-know-who for the link.

Complete Novel Available for Download at New Concepts Publishing

Excerpt From Dying to Love Him

By Sherry Morris

Tammy pounded on the front door of her sister Donna’s Virginia townhouse. Her pink manicure reflected back from the clean etched glass. A hulking monster of a dog placed two paws on the other side of the door. Tammy stumbled backwards and grabbed the wrought iron railing. The canine emitted only a pitiful whimper.

Maybe Oh-Donna’s in the shower. The sky began to spit on Tammy. She descended the twelve brown brick steps and marched around the matching path to the rear of her sister’s end unit townhouse. She opened the gate on the six foot tall privacy fence. The first five feet of it was board on board, the top foot was lattice. After latching the gate, she dashed under the deck.

Tammy tried the French doors in the basement. They were unlocked. She stomped in and slammed the door behind her. Immediately turning her nose up at the overdone red walls and carpet, she hurried across a room filled with guitars, a piano, harmonicas, violins and recording equipment. Tammy took the stairs two at a time. Reaching the top, she flung open a white steel door and was greeted by Scooby Doo-ette. “Hi girl, remember me? How are you, Sugar?”

Something wasn’t right.

The dog was nearly emaciated. Her ribs were showing and she wasn’t her boisterous self.

“Eew! What’s that smell?” The kitchen reeked of urine and there were three piles of poop on the hardwood floor.

“You poor thing! Oh-Donna went away and forgot about you.” Tammy unlocked the French Doors in the kitchen. The dog bolted out onto the deck. She filled her water bowl and then scooped three cups of kibbles into the chrome food dish. The whimpering dog slumped on the pressure treated wood deck, surrounded by terra cotta pots of wilted flowers. Tammy let her back in. The Great Dane immediately chomped down the food and lapped up the water.

The stench in the kitchen gagged her. Tammy opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink and dug out a trash bag, disinfectant and yellow rubber gloves. Yanking seven paper towels off the roll on the pistol-gray granite counter, Tammy went to work cleaning the mess, all the while mumbling, “Oh-Donna you good for nothing bitch. How could you do this to a poor defenseless doggie?” Tammy breathed through her mouth, trying desperately not to inhale. “And how could you be so cruel as to cut me off from Daddy’s money?” A tear rolled down her cheek. “How could you? You’ll pay for this little sister of mine.”

Tammy placed the smelly bag out on the deck and then shoved the cleaning supplies back under the sink.

The air conditioning kicked on. A cold shiver raced up her spine. “Where is the thermostat Scooby Doo-ette? Hunh girl?” The dog brushed up against her silk-stockinged leg and licked her throat. She petted the Great Dane. The pair headed down the hallway, in search of the thermostat.

Tammy stopped in front of the living room, where she glimpsed her sister lying on the sofa.

Lifeless.

Tammy screamed.

The dog cried and licked Tammy’s hand.

“Ohmagod, she’s dead!” Hey, wait a minute, if Oh-Donna is dead, then that means she can’t be executrix of Daddy’s will and so I can get put back on the dole and hey, wait a minute—she’s an old spinster, so I logically will inherit her estate as well...

Tammy sighed. Oh, I’ll probably have to split it with Perry. But at least I’ll get a nice chunk of change.

She looked the corpse over. Her sister lay in the fetal position, with a smile curling the corner of her pale lips. What an angelic porcelain face. Even now, a twinge of jealousy swirled. Oh-Donna was blessed with naturally wavy blonde hair and flawless Caucasian skin. Tammy never did feel like they were real sisters. Even though the Payne’s adopted Tammy as a baby, she never warmed up to their natural daughter, Oh-Donna. But Tammy did feel an allegiance to their son Perry. They were more alike.

Tammy stepped closer, stumbling over the clumsy dog. Oh for the love of Prada, her tummy is moving up and down with her breathing. There goes my plan. “Wake up Oh-Donna.”

She didn’t move. Tammy shook her arm. “Wake up! Now! Get up Oh-Donna.”

No reaction.

Tammy remembered Farts (their late father’s proctologist friend) telling her and Perry that Oh-Donna had a brain disorder which caused her to fall asleep at weird times. She recollected discovering her sleeping in the walk-in closet under the stairs at their parents’ house and then she’d fainted in front of her moments later.

Tammy hugged her chilled arms, wishing the damned air conditioner would shut off. “Wake up Oh-Donna. Wake the frick up, you brain damaged witch. Wake up sissy-girl.”

Her sister didn’t respond. It was as though she was in a coma...

“Ohmagod. Oh-Donna is in a coma! I’m so sorry sweetie! You poor thing. That’s why the dog was starved and crapped in the house. How long have you been like this?”

Tammy snatched the cordless phone from the end table and punched in her brother’s cell phone number.

“Judge Payne here.”

“Perry! Oh-Donna’s in a coma! And the dog pooped all over the house and she’s gonna die and that bitch cut me off, I’ve been evicted—.”

“What? Slow down. Oh-Donna’s in a coma? Where are you?”

“I’m at her house. I can’t wake her up.”

“Hang up and call nine-one-one.”

Tammy breathlessly squealed, “I don’t have time to look up the number for nine-one-one. What if she dies?” Sweet Jesus forgive me for my earlier thoughts. I didn’t mean them. Honest I didn’t. Her stomach churned. I’m gonna go to Hell for my thoughts. Tears deposited mascara in her eyes. She closed them tightly.

Perry barked, “Call an ambulance. The number for nine-one-one is nine-one-one Goddamit! I’ll be over as soon as I can. Call me and tell me what hospital they’re taking her to.” He hung up.

Tammy conjured up the last time her sister fainted, she’d thrown a glass of water in her face and she woke up. “Water!” She sprinted to the kitchen and picked up the dog’s water bowl. She filled it and jogged down the hallway, sloshing a trail behind her. The Great Dane lapped it off the hardwood floor. In the foyer, Tammy tripped on the edge of a sisal area rug and emptied the bowl onto her designer suit. “Darn you Oh-Donna!” Her scream pierced so loudly the dog skedaddled upstairs.

“Ohhh...” Her sister groaned.

Tammy dropped the chrome bowl and scrambled to her side. She picked up her arm, pumping it up and down, slapping her hand. “Oh-Donna, wake up Oh-Donna!”

Her sister murmured, “No...! No...! Not the Donna song...” Her smile morphed into a scowl.

Tammy slapped her sister’s face with both hands. “Wake up Oh-Donna. Now!”

“No. No. Go back. Ash...ley...”

©2007 Sherry Morris

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Author: Pamela Tyner
Publisher: New Concepts Publishing
REVIEW: 

 Right from the start this book compelled me to read on. I was desperate to know what had happened in Tricia’s life. As the book progresses I discovered that Tricia has suffered violence at the hands of her partner, Matt. Her Protector reveals a tale of fear and violence that Tricia suffered because of Matt. He made her totally dependent on him by moving her to Florida, away from her security in Lexington, Oklahoma. She finally managed to leave him, but he returned to their hometown looking for her.  Tricia’s first love, Clint, arrives to take her to safety. I immediately spotted something bad between her and Clint. Tricia shows a lot of anger towards him, even though he has taken her into his home to keep her safe.   

Pamela Tyner has a great way of making me feel emotions while reading.  In the scene where Clint reaches to knock on the door just as Tricia opens it, my heart stopped a beat and I felt the fear of being hit, just as Tricia did. When they kissed at the Bushwhacker it made me feel bubbly and warm inside. I thought she had finally given in to his advances, made me wish she had given in. Clint remembers everything about Tricia.

Throughout the book they slowly come together again. There are moments where they both feel exactly the same, but neither do anything about it. I willed them to just give in and let it happen.   Throughout the book Tricia had a habit of becoming jealous whenever she thought a woman may be getting close to Clint, even though she thinks she doesn’t want him herself. In one scene the phone rings and she says, “I’m going to bed now, Honey.  Make sure you don’t make me wait too long. It gets awful lonely in there by myself.” I soon discovered that it wasn’t the person she had first thought it was. It gets her a little more into trouble than she first anticipated. I couldn’t help but chuckle. 

I felt completely drawn in to the way Tricia felt, especially when she spoke to Clint on the porch about what she had endured in her time with Matt. I wanted to hug her and say, “You know what? It wasn’t your fault. He made you think it was your fault so he didn’t feel guilty about the way he behaved.”   Pamela Tyner makes use of the word brainwashed during a particular scene, which is such a powerful word in Her Protector. It is the only word that can describe what Tricia suffered.  

Finally, she gives in to her feelings and approaches Clint. This part made me want to cheer and clap for them. The description of the scene is short which gives it more impact, in my opinion.   For a brief moment Pamela Tyner took me to the darker side, telling the story from the violent Matt’s point of view.  She writes, Changes would be implemented, when he was done with her she wouldn’t even go to the bathroom without asking his permission first. That was it for me. I wanted to thump Matt there and then. No man should ever try to dominate a woman the way Matt does. Not only that, he was going to ruin everything Tricia had started building up again with Clint. 

During an erotic scene I felt encased by the moment. Clint is so gentle and so understanding of her needs. Afterwards, Tricia is drifting off to sleep and Clint says, “I missed you, honey.”  My heart melted with the passion. The brief encounter when Matt made Tricia drive away from the ranch, him holding her in a lock around her neck, made me scream for her to remember the self defence Clint had taught her. When Clint and Tricia finally embraced I felt a gush of relief. Then it was revealed Clint had been shot. I just burst into tears. I really thought this was the end for them. 

Pamela Tyner successfully ties up all the ends in the story and succeeded in coaxing tears from my eyes. I really loved the ending to this story, and in the epilogue I saw that in the end, Tricia has learned to finally trust again. I would definitely recommend this book if you want some passionate reading.