Tangled Memories

Professional Reviews

Romantic Times Review, 4 STARS ~Kathy Boswell I am thrilled to see a revival of the gothic romance. Not only does it have effective gothic elements but also flashbacks to the earlier time made it seem as if I were reading two different stories that paralleled each other.

Teresa Medeiros “Jan Scarbrough gives romantic suspense a fresh twist in her compelling first novel Tangled Memories. Her strong, provocative voice is one I look forward to reading more of in the future.”

Jane Toombs “Not only gothic lovers will find this a marvelous and rewarding read—any reader who enjoys suspense mixed with romance won't be able to put this book down.”

Patricia Kay “Lush, vivid writing. Tone, style and voice are all original and quite wonderful. The mood is nicely maintained, with just enough brooding suspense and Gothic overtones. Reminiscent of Mary Stewart.”

Excerpt

His eyes were gray. I had never noticed before. They weren’t the color of slate, but smoky and mysterious. Down the silent aisle, I walked confidently toward him—chin high, very lady-like in posture and demeanor, a trace of smile upon my lips. Inside I didn’t feel confident, swallowing the hard knot of dread that had surfaced in my throat. A cloying scent of gardenias assaulted my heightened senses. How curious the delicate white flowers should be so over-powering. Just like the man in front of me. Just like the deep, heady gray of his eyes.

I extended my hand. As he took it, I drew a breath and held it, the firm feel of his fingers surprising me.

“Friends, we are gathered together in the sight of God to witness and bless the joining together of Mary and Alexander in Christian marriage.”

He was tall, so tall I was forced to look up into those mesmerizing eyes. My breathing started again—erratic and shallow. I didn’t understand the sense of familiarity I felt about him, because I certainly didn’t know this man. How ironic. I was marrying again for the second time in my life, and for the second time, my reasons were more practical than romantic.

I glanced briefly at the Methodist minister. Although he wore a white stole symbolic of purity and love, his black robes matched my intensely somber mood.

“I ask you now,” he said, “in the presence of God and these people, to declare your intention to enter into a union with one another.”

To enter into a union. Heaven help me. Would it be a union? How could it be? It was a business arrangement, plain and simple. I understood that. Somehow though, sadness clutched at my heart.

Reverend Watts looked at me. “Mary, will you have Alexander to be your husband to live together in holy marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

My stomach burned. I felt Alex’s gray penetrating gaze upon my upturned face as I concentrated on the minister’s receding hairline. “I will.”

“Alexander, will you have Mary to be your wife?”

From underneath my lashes, I watched him. He wore his jet black hair swept back and long and curling at his neck. A stray lock touched his forehead and set off his eyes. His high cheekbones and jawline gave him a classic look. His lips were full and inviting. Enigmatic in his formal black tuxedo, crisp white shirt and bow tie, he seemed a brooding Byronic hero. Handsome, though austere, his masculine good looks belonged on the cover of a romantic novel.

I often wondered how different my life might have been if I hadn’t become pregnant at eighteen…if I hadn’t married Bill…if I hadn’t miscarried. What if I had met Alexander Dominican under different circumstances, before life had touched me so harshly?

“I will.” His deep and resonant voice grabbed my attention.

Turning from the minister to me, his eyes brightened as his gaze captured mine. Out of habit, I licked my lips, but nothing eased the tension I felt, which I knew I somehow communicated to the self-assured man who held my hand. Did he feel the hypocrisy of our oath? Or was he simply content with a marriage of convenience? Daring him with my stare, I narrowed my own eyes in challenge to his casual acceptance of our deceit before God. His black brow lifted to meet my dare. He cocked his head to the side as if to tell me I could still back out. I could walk away a single woman. Poor, but single. I shifted my gaze, unable to continue our silent joust, knowing full well I couldn’t back out. Bill’s death had made sure of that.

“Let us pray. Eternal God, creator and preserver of all life.”

I bowed my head, but I couldn’t shut my eyes. It didn’t seem right. Nothing seemed right these last few weeks. Not since the dark-clad police officer had come to my door, telling me my husband had been killed in a car accident.

When the prayer ended, the minister motioned us to face each other and join our hands. I gave my bouquet to my friend Gail, who took it with hesitation. Alex’s grasp was warm and determined. The grip of his fingers transmitted a vibrant fire through my arms coursing straight to my heart. Trite as it sounds, I felt my heart skip a beat. Had I read my emotions correctly? It had been a long time since I had felt sexual attraction, and I certainly had not expected to feel ardor toward this tall man I was about to marry. What good would it do? We had an arrangement. A platonic arrangement. I’d mother his infant daughter. He’d pay my debts. I berated myself because our stark and concise agreement left no room for this unexpected play of emotion.

“I, Alexander, take you, Mary to be my wife.”

To be my wife. My throat constricted. I had met Dr. Alexander Dominican eight years ago. The partner of my doctor, Alex had been on call the night I had lost my baby. I had been such a foolish teenager. Straightening my shoulders at the thought, I caught the slight narrowing of his eyes, and turned self-consciously from his scrutiny. What did he really think about me? Did he remember that scared child-patient of eight years ago? I had changed. At twenty-six I was now a woman. Did he know that?

The minister nodded. Summoning all my willpower, I looked at Alex and in a hushed voice, repeated the same vows. My hands were damp when he released them to turn to Dr. Bramwell, his partner and best man. At the same time, Gail handed me a thin gold band. Unable to meet Alex’s gaze, I took his left hand, and slid the band across the third finger. In a different time, I believed he would have bowed and kissed the back of my hand. As it was, he held onto it, and firmly slipped my own wedding band into place. Hastily, I glanced up to find his eyes appraising me. As I tightened my lips, my returning gaze did not falter. The weight of the ornate, gold ring nudged into my flesh, and created a link between us I was hard-pressed to comprehend.

“Bless, O Lord, the giving of these rings, that they who wear them may live in your peace and continue in your favor all the days of their lives.”

Alex smiled a slow, half smile, as if he understood something I had failed to discern. The smile softened his stern features, bringing back my recollection of the gentle doctor who had once comforted and cared for me. I offered a smile in return, and was gratified to see his eyes lighten in response.

The minister joined our hands together again and symbolically wrapped his white stole around them.

“Now that Alexander and Mary have given themselves to each other by solemn vows,” he said, “with the joining of hands, and the giving and receiving of rings, I announce to you that they are husband and wife; in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder.”

A surprising disquiet pricked my scalp and traced down the back of my neck. I swallowed once, to ease the dryness in my mouth and then looked away from our joined hands. We were husband and wife. It seemed so appropriate, so right. As if it was meant to be. But how could it? Under the strained circumstances of our compact, we were nothing but business partners.

“Are you going to kiss the bride?” I heard amusement in the minister’s voice, because he expected us to be a conventional couple.

Alex released my hands. I felt oddly bereft. When I looked up at him, I found him staring down at me, his eyes shadowed by coal-colored lashes. I read the speculation in them. He lifted his hands, and I fixed my gaze upon them, charmed by the beauty of his tapered fingers. His hands lingered in the air briefly, and then I felt them raise the thin veil from my face. His breath touched me. My gaze now held spellbound by his, I watched his eyes as he gently elevated my chin with a fingertip and caressed my cheek with his thumb. My heart hung suspended in my chest, for an instant, and then dropped into a relentless beat. For some reason, I welcomed the touch of his hand upon my skin. Dreamily, I smiled.

His focus was only on the mere movement of my lips. He stood so very close. I could see the flecks of dark in the lighter gray of his eyes. My own eyes widened in dismay as Alex lowered his lips to mine, tenderly touching them with a kiss so poignant that it pierced into my soul.

The kiss startled us both. I could tell by the way he hesitated, seeming to gasp for breath. With his left hand, he still caressed my face, connecting us to each other in an untold way. I found it hard to breathe. I found it hard to move. In the recesses of my mind, warning bells clamored.