I write about second chances
*My guest this week is author Jan Scarbrough. Take it away Jan!
When I was thirty-eight, I almost died. I was
in the intensive care unit for four days. After I recovered, I decided it was
time to make my dream of becoming a novelist come true.
Tangled Memories was one of the first two novels that I wrote after my recovery. It was
a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist. First published by ImaJinn
Books, a publisher that embraced paranormal romance before vampires became
popular, Tangled Memories has had an
eventful history hopping from one small publisher to the next. I now have my
rights back and have given my old book a “second chance” makeover.
After my life-threatening illness, I wondered “what
if” we were all given second chances. What would we do? And especially, what
would happen to a heroine if she were given another chance to find her true
love? In Tangled Memories, there’s a
supernatural suspense element, but there’s also a happy ending. I like to write
about heroines who find true love, but grow in the process. My heroines learn
from their mistakes and embrace the second chances they are given—as we all
should do in real life.
Blurb for Tangled Memories
After losing his wife, Dr.
Alexander Dominican is determined his infant daughter will not grow up
motherless as he did. Offering sensible, kind kindergarten teacher Mary Adams a
marriage of convenience seems like the perfect solution. The widow’s husband
left her with a mountain of debt. For Alex, paying it off is a small price to
pay for his daughter’s happiness. Until his sensible new wife begins to lose
her mind.
On the day of their marriage, Mary starts
having frightening hallucinations of medieval England—visions that feel
more like the memories of woman who lived centuries before. More terrifying,
someone—or some thing—is stalking the new mistress of Marchbrook
Manor. Could it be one of the sinister servants? Or Alex himself? Alex is
reawakening hidden desires and longings in Mary, but until she can untangle the
web of nightmares and secrets, she can trust no one. Not even Alex.
Alex has no idea he’s unleashing a destiny
that’s taken him seven hundred years to fulfill.
If Alex and Mary are to salvage their future,
they must first unravel centuries of…Tangled Memories.
Excerpt – Tangled Memories
Present
Day
His eyes were gray. I had never noticed
before. They weren’t the color of slate but smoky and mysterious.
Swallowing a hard knot of dread that
surfaced in my throat, I walked down the silent aisle toward him. Chin held high,
very lady-like in posture and demeanor, a trace of smile upon my lips—I was the
picture of confidence.
Inside, I trembled.
I stopped in front of the altar. A cloying
scent of gardenias assaulted my senses. How curious the delicate white flowers in
my bouquet should be so overpowering. Just like the man beside me. Just like
the deep, heady gray of his eyes.
I extended my hand. He took it, and I drew
a breath and held it. The firmness of his fingers surprised me.
“Friends.” The minister glanced up at us
and smiled. “We are gathered together in the sight of God to witness and bless
the joining together of Mary and Alexander in Christian marriage.”
Alex was tall, so tall I had to look up to
connect with those mesmerizing eyes. I was aware of my breathing, erratic and
shallow. I’d married for the second time in my life and, once again, my reasons
were more practical than romantic.
How even more ironic was the Methodist
minister’s white stole, a symbol of purity and love. I felt neither pure nor in
love. His black robes better matched my somber mood.
“I ask you now,” Reverend Watts continued, “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? Our union was a business arrangement, plain and simple. I
understood that. For some reason though, sadness settled around 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?”
Alex’s
penetrating gaze burned upon my upturned face. “I will,” I said at last.
“Alexander, will you have Mary to be your
wife?”
From underneath my lashes, I watched him. He
wore his black hair swept back and long, 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 to another
century or, at least, on the cover of a romantic novel.
How different would my life have been if I
hadn’t become pregnant my freshman year in college…if I hadn’t married Bill…if
I hadn’t miscarried? What if I had met Alexander Dominican under different
circumstances, before life touched me so cruelly?
“I will.” His deep voice resonated throughout
the empty chapel.
Turning from the minister to me, Alex’s
eyes brightened as his gaze captured mine. Out of habit, I licked my lips, but
nothing eased my tension. The strain I felt surely communicated to the
self-assured man who held my hand. Did he feel the hypocrisy of our oath? Or
was he simply satisfied 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 taunt. He cocked his head as if to tell me I could yet
back out. I could walk away a single woman. Poor, but single.
I shifted my gaze, unable to continue our
silent joust. He knew full well I couldn’t back out. Bill’s death had made my
current situation untenable.
“Let us pray. Eternal God, creator and
preserver of all life.”
I
bowed my head but couldn’t shut my eyes. My dilemma 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 of eight years had been killed in a car
accident.
Bill
and I hadn’t been lovers in the end. Or even in love. Oddly, ours had been a pragmatic
marriage because of the baby…the baby who died. Yet, we had made a compact and
married before God. I had honored our agreement, much as I planned to honor my
new one with this man by my side.
When the prayer ended, the minister
motioned us to face each other and join both our hands. I gave my bouquet to
Gail, my maid of honor. She hesitated as if to object, then took it. I was able
to accept Alex’s free hand. The grip of his fingers transmitted tingling warmth
through my arms. Trite as it sounds, I felt my heart skip a beat.
What was this reaction? It had been a long
time since I’d felt sexual attraction, and I certainly did not expect to feel
ardor toward this man with whom I had signed a contract. What good would my
feelings do? Although married, we had an arrangement. Ours would be a platonic relationship.
Because his wife Allison had died so suddenly, I would be a mother to his
infant daughter. He would pay my debts.
Why had I agreed to such a stark and precise
agreement? It 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 the night I lost my baby. The partner of my regular OB-GYN,
Dr. Hilliard, Alex had been on call. Still regretting my teen years, I knew I had
been such a fool to let myself get pregnant.
Straightening my shoulders at the thought,
I caught the slight narrowing of Alex’s eyes, and turned self-consciously from
his scrutiny. What did he really think about me? Did he remember that scared eighteen-year-old-patient
of eight years ago? I had changed. Did he know I’d changed? Did he care?
The minister nodded. Summoning all my
willpower, I repeated in a hushed voice the same vows. My hands were damp when Alex
released them to turn to his best man, Dr. Hilliard. At the same time, Gail
handed me a wide gold band. Unable to meet Alex’s gaze, I took his left hand
and slid the band across his third finger.
A strange feeling of familiarity enveloped
me. In a different time, I believed he would have bowed and kissed the back of
my hand. Today, he held onto it and gently slipped the new wedding band into
place on my finger. 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 symbolic link between us.
“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 reply and was gratified to see
his eyes lighten in response.
The minister joined our hands together
again and wrapped his white stole around them. He cleared his throat and raised
his voice to include all the guests in his pronouncement.
“Now that Alexander and Mary have given
themselves to each other by solemn vows 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. What was wrong? I swallowed once, to ease the
dryness in my mouth and then looked up 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?
“Are you going to kiss the bride?” I heard
amusement in the minister’s voice.
Alex released my hands. I felt oddly
bereft. He stared 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 Alex raised the thin veil from my face. My gaze now held
spellbound by his, I watched as he gently elevated my chin with a fingertip and
caressed my cheek with a thumb.
For an instant, my heart hung suspended in
my chest, then dropped into a relentless beat. Why did I welcome the touch of
his hand upon my skin?
He stood so very close. His warm breath
touched my face. I saw 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 it pierced 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
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.
I straightened my shoulders and shifted my
chin away from his touch. We may be married, but his kiss was not appropriate
for two people with a business arrangement. Awkwardly separating, we held each
other’s gazes an instant. I felt dazed, swaying from side to side. Alex set his
jaw and glanced away.
“Congratulations.” Reverend Watts pumped
Alex’s hand.
Gail gave me my bouquet and offered me a
swift hug. Her face was strained, her lips pursed. “I hope you’ll be happy,
Mary.”
“Thank you.”
Holding on to Gail’s hug longer than
necessary, I then stepped back, embarrassed. I knew she was upset with me for marrying
Alex. My friend had tried to talk me out of it, especially so soon after Bill’s
death. My reasons were wrong she told me. I was being purchased like a
broodmare for the price of my late husband’s gambling debt. A significant
gambling debt, I tried to remind her. Bill had owed more than three hundred
thousand dollars that became my debt after his death. I had no other way out. Gail
and I had argued. It was no surprise we now had so little to say to each other.
We treated each other uneasily.
Nearby, Dr. Hilliard congratulated Alex,
slapping him on his back.
“How do you capture the pretty ones, my
man?” Dr. Hilliard asked. “How do you do it? You’ve got a beauty here for a
wife. I ought to know….” He finished his sentence with a meaningful wink.
I thought his remark crude. He was my
gynecologist, after all, and, of course, knew
me in a medical sense. But I overlooked it and allowed him to congratulate me
with what I thought was to be the obligatory kiss for the bride.
It was more like a lover’s kiss. His tongue
invaded my mouth. He held me tightly with too much familiarity.
Tasting bourbon, I abruptly ended the kiss,
tossing my head as if to fling the flush of outrage from my heated face.
“Why, Dr. Hilliard,” I snapped. “You
certainly have a knack for exploratory surgery. Did they teach you that in
medical school?”
He laughed. “Yes, Alex, I love a woman with
spunk.”
“Or is it just my women you love, John?” My husband’s tone was slick ice.
I tried to assess the undercurrents
swirling around me, only to find Alex’s stony demeanor unreadable.
Thankfully, Reverend Watts interrupted our
conversation. “Please step into my office to sign the marriage certificate.” He
stepped back to allow us to precede him out of the quiet sanctuary.
Alex took me possessively by the hand and
tucked it under his arm. He kept hold of my fingers, his own hand warm and
sure. I had no trouble keeping up with his deliberate pace. There was something
strangely comfortable about the way our strides matched.
“He’s been my doctor for eight years,” I murmured,
“but I never realized Dr. Hilliard could be so insufferable.”
“You’ve only seen him on his best behavior
at the office. My esteemed partner usually doesn’t come to work under the
influence of Maker’s Mark.”
“He’s not an alcoholic, is he?” I asked,
thinking about my late husband.
Alex paused and looked down at me. “Let’s
just say he’s walking a fine line where I’m concerned. I’ve been monitoring his
behavior. Oddly, it has worsened in the months since Allison’s death.”
I gave Alex a slight smile, grateful for
his explanation.
“They are waiting,” he remarked. “Let’s go
in.”
The minister’s office was hot. Summer
sunshine streamed through open drapes. We crowded inside while Reverend Watts
went to a window air conditioner unit and turned it on. A blast of cool air
erupted into the room. Returning to his desk, the minister shuffled papers for
what seemed an eternity, finally producing a formal-looking document. When he
nodded at us, Alex released me and stepped forward. Standing slightly away from
him, I watched my new husband bend over the minister’s desk and put his
signature on the paper.
My situation seemed so unreal. Gail was angry
with me. My trusted doctor had a drinking problem, and I was married…again…to a
man who mystified but also intrigued me.
Suddenly, a high-pitched, ringing sound
shrilled loudly in my ears, growing in intensity until it blocked out other
sounds. Was something wrong with the air-conditioning unit? Alex turned toward
me, offering me the pen. His mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear him speak. The
stuffy little office grew fuzzy. Sweat beaded on my upper lip. I felt weightless—as
if I was floating.
Like Fourth of July fireworks, pulsating
lights of exploding colors shot before my eyes. I closed them. In the distance
behind my eyes, I saw a young girl dressed in a strange yellow gown. The room
vibrated….
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More About Jan Scarbrough
A member of Novelist, Inc., Jan Scarbrough has published with Kensington, Five Star, ImaJinn Books, Resplendence Publishing and Turquoise Morning Press. She writes paranormal Gothic romances and heartwarming contemporary romances with a touch of spice. Her favorite topics are families and second chances and if the plot allows, she adds another passion—horses. Living in the horse country of Kentucky makes it easy for Jan to add small town, Southern charm to her books, and the excitement of a horse race or a big-time, competitive horse show. Connect with her here:
