Scrumptious: Blue Collar Boys, #2

By Carol Rose

New contemporary romance by the author of the bestselling romance "Always" and Smooched(Blue Collar Boys, Bk 1):

Natalie Trafalger's ailing grandmother is determined to sue for land that was swindled from her in order to have a legacy to leave her granddaughter, Natalie faces a dilemma. She doesn't doesn't need the land, which now is now owned by a thriving salvage company, but she doesn't want to disappoint her grandmother either. After much soul searching she finally hits on what she believes is the perfect solution.

Noah Thompson is shocked when his lawyer tells him that that Natalie has a good case against him and his family's salvage company, Scruffy Boys Salvage. He stunned when Natalie come to him with her solution. If he will pretend to be her fiance, her grandmother will believe that she will get the land after their marriage and no lawsuit will be necessary.

Unfortunately, he and his brothers have just taken out a loan to finance a new building, and there is no extra money for an expensive lawsuit. If he wants to avoid a lawsuit, he will have to agree to Natalie's crazy plan. He will pretend to her fiancé as long as her dying grandmother is still alive.  Given how sick Natalie's grandmother is, how long could the charade possibly go on for?

But almost immediately he realizes that he has made tremendous mistake.  While Noah will do almost anything he can to help the family business, he's unprepared for how Natalie makes him feel. And he soon realizes that he doesn't want the fake engagement to end, ever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carol Rose
• Release date: Aug 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310389566

Carol Rose

Carol Rose is an award-winning author of contemporary romances. She has written twenty-five books, including Always and Forgotten Father. Her books have won numerous awards, including a final in the prestigious Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award. Carol is an active member of the North Texas Romance Writers. A frequent speaker at writers’ groups and conferences, she has taught workshops on characterization and, creating and resolving conflict. She works full time as a therapist. Her husband and she married when she was only nineteen and he was barely twenty-one, proving that early marriage can make it, but only if you’re really lucky and persistent. They went through college and grad school together. She not only loves him still, all these years later, she still likes him—which she says is sometimes harder. They have two funny, intelligent and highly accomplished daughters. Carol loves writing and hopes you enjoy reading her work.  www.carolrosebooks.com www.twitter.com -  carolrose@carolrosebooks https://www.facebook.com/carol.rose.author  

Book preview

Blue Collar Boys:

Scrumptious

By

Carol Rose

Copyright Carol Rose 2015

Cover images courtesy of luknaja, curaphotography, and canstockphoto

Cover by Joleene Naylor

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

~~~********~~~

One

Noah Thompson drew a deep breath. I’m afraid...miss. We only have the one.

The dark-haired petite woman pursed her red lips and considered the huge urn that occupied a spot in front of her. Really? I would think it was part of a pair.

Probably was...originally, he said with as much patience as he could muster. The other one must have gotten broken.

He’d been dragging back and forth across the architectural salvage yard he owned with his brothers, following this fluffy, feminine designer for an hour. She was the most distractible woman he’d seen, fascinated one moment by a set of large lanterns meant for either side of a grand entrance and then raving about a small iron garden frog.

So, you said your client’s house is...what period? If only he could get her focused.

The woman flipped her shiny black shoulder-length hair as she swiveled to look at him. "It was built in the thirties, I think. More classic than art deco—which was also a common style back then. Anyway, she’s not picky about sticking with a period. It’s more of a look she’s going for."

Looking down from her vivid blue gaze, Noah scuffed a work boot in the dirt before glancing back up at her. "And your client wants lights...gazeboes...and a really big urn in her front yard?"

Noah really wasn’t trying to be rude, he just figured this designer had an ADHD problem.

The woman in front of him giggled at his question, hiking her hot pink shoulder bag up more firmly as she smiled at him. No, silly. Well, I’m not sure what exactly she has in mind for the backyard. The urn is really too big for the house, but I just had to look at it. It’s so impressive! The house it came from must have been really big.

Noah couldn’t help it. He had to smile, even though this customer was driving him stark, staring mad. She was funny, too, in a totally hot, really irritating way.

So, maybe you should get her to focus...or bring her here to look at what we’ve got to offer.

I wouldn’t dare, the woman said candidly, She’d go wild here. I mean, even wilder than me. You have a ton of stuff at the salvage yard here and we haven’t even started on what you’ve got inside.

He drew a deep breath. Nothing. We’ve got nothing inside.

She laughed again. "You’re pulling my leg, Noah. It is Noah, right? I thought that’s what the girl said when you walked up."

Yes, ma’am. Noah Thompson. He didn’t know why he’d pulled out the ma’am thing. She wasn’t any older than him and he was only twenty-seven. There was just something about this irritating, little shapely woman.

The hot number in front of him, held out her hand. I’m Natalie Trefalger.

Because not shaking her hand seemed rude, Noah reached out. In the flash of an instant when his palm met hers, he knew shaking her hand was a mistake.

She was softer than... Well, softer than he needed to think about.

He had no doubt that Kaylie, his niece, would say the designer was probably a fairy or a sprite in disguise. Kaylie read too many fairy tales up in that ridiculous tree house his brother, Case, had built her after her folks had died. But the woman did look a little like Snow White in Kaylie’s old Disney movie...if Snow White had worn a tight little black skirt and a jade green blouse that made it clear just how shapely the character was.

Only Natalie Trefalger was way too sexy for any Disney character.

Her shoes had high, high heels and he found he’d had to discipline his unruly libido when she bent over to look at the frog.

Damn, he had to stay focused.

What’s around there? The woman peered around the side of the main building. Oh! You have more.

Noah closed his eyes briefly before opening them and quickly following her around the corner.

She stood looking into an open over-hang where different kinds of lumber and other items were stored. Are those—?

A tall ladder stood at the end of the over-hang.

Are those stained glass windows stacked up there? On that ledge?

Noah cleared his throat. Yes. Yes, they are.

The sexy little brunette nearly jumped with excitement. Oh! My client specifically mentioned wanting several of those to hang in her front windows. Can we take a look?

I...suppose so. What was he going to do? Refuse the woman now after following her around the yard for more than an hour? Noah picked up the ladder and brought it over to lean against the high ledge where the stained glass windows were stacked. Did you have any size or color in mind?

Nope. Not too big, but I’d have to see the different styles you have before I’ll know which one is perfect.

Of course, you would, Noah muttered under his breath as he started climbing the ladder. Reaching the top was no biggie. Once there, he pulled several windows over to the edge, so she could see them. Something like this?

Oh, yes! That’s beautiful. What else do you have? Craning her neck, she squinted up at the ledge.

Resigning himself to dragging most of the stained glass windows over to where she could see them, Noah just hoped the brunette ended up buying a couple. He dragged another one forward—this one had several shades of purple in it, balancing it on the edge. Did you have any particular color palette in mind?

To his shock, Noah just then felt the ladder beneath him begin to vibrate. Still grasping the window in one gloved hand, he swiveled his head around to see his shapely customer actually climbing the ladder beneath him.

Damn, woman! What are you doing?!

She kept climbing. He could feel the ladder vibrate with each step. I need to see them more closely. Hold still.

Within a minute, she’d risen to a rung just below where he stood. Noah could only put out his other arm to brace against the overhang and steady the ladder. He certainly couldn’t climb down with her in the way and up only lead to the shelf holding the stained glass windows.

When Noah felt the brush of her against his lower legs, he gripped the ladder more tightly and closed his eyes.

Wow! It looks really tall up here.

Her words sounded right behind him and he knew she had to have had a full-on view of his jean-covered ass. Suddenly, the air seemed much warmer.

So...hey, these are close quarters. She sounded a little breathless. These...these windows look really great.

Rolling his gaze up in a silent prayer, Noah steadied the ladder the best he could as she jiggled around behind him. Um, there’s really no need for you to...climb up here, woman. I’m more than happy to show you each one.

A gurgle of laughter sounded behind him. But I can see so much better up here...Noah.

Really? You could also knock us both off the ladder.

A tinny, aluminum sound came from the ladder and he figured she had to have hit against it.

The ladder certainly feels strong and well-built. We’re safe enough. You Scruffy Boys wouldn’t have a sub-par ladder around here, I’m sure.

Lady, ladders aren’t built for two people to climb, he growled, fighting the image of her doll-like face inches away from his backside. Go back down and I’ll pull these windows over for you to look at.

"I think I prefer woman to lady," she responded in a provocative voice, not starting down the ladder.

Those are just the beginning of what I’m going to call you if you don’t climb back down this ladder, he threatened, abandoning his impersonal tone.

Don’t threaten me. Her voice was sweet and unimpressed. Just reach over and shift those windows around for me.

There have to be twenty-five windows within my reach, Noah said with acidity, I can’t—within these restraints—move around enough to let you see them.

She laughed. This is an interesting position.

Woman!

"Mmm. You’re scrumptious, she teased. I could just take a bite—"

Don’t you dare!

—or I could get a little closer look at the windows myself.

Noah felt the ladder tremble as she climbed up another rung. He stood there, chest pressed close to the ladder rungs, as his tormentor brushed against his backside. Her head was now level with his back and he had a sudden urge to get her down the ladder, whip her over his knee and smack her rear till she squealed.

As you can see, he said, holding his libido in firm check, most of these windows have red, purple or blue glass flowers. Satisfied?

She didn’t move, still standing right behind him on the ladder, and he felt the heat from their nearness climb up into his throat.

Are they in pretty good condition? Tight leading and no broken glass pieces?

We only keep windows that are in good condition. Sure you don’t want to climb over me to get up to the ledge and examine them with a magnifying glass? He normally didn’t have any problem being polite to customers, but this woman pulled his chain in a big way.

Could you climb on to the ledge...if I wanted?

Will you climb down this ladder?! The words exploded from Noah.

Oh, geez.

He felt the ladder shake a little and was conscious of her body heat having moved away from his rear end.

Is this better? she asked, still moving down the ladder.

Yes. Noah didn’t dare move for a few minutes, startled that he’d gotten a woody in their precarious position on the ladder.

Do you feel more safe with me on the ground? She asked in her provocative and playful way.

Absolutely. He felt in control of himself enough now to start climbing down. All I could think of was the lawsuit that could arise if you fell and your loved ones decided to come after us.

He reached the bottom rung of the ladder and turned around to face her. And you really climbed up there in those shoes?

She glanced down at her black patent heels, high enough to add four inches to her petite height. What’s wrong with my shoes?

Noah rolled his eyes. Not exactly work wear.

It’s what I wear to work.

The shapely black-haired sprite sent a sultry smile his way. Be nice to me, Noah. Or I might climb right back up...your ladder.

*

Can you put down your sketch pad long enough to hand me my fan? Natalie’s Grammy pointed to a quilted tote bag on the ground next to the park bench. I think it’s in there.

Sure. Natalie bent over to search through the bag next to her feet. When she finally located the furled fan, she whipped it out and flung it open as she handed it to her Grammy. Here you go, madam.

Thank you, smart mouth. Grammy grinned faintly before she started slowly fanning herself. So you actually walked through the architectural salvage yard? Did you meet any of the Thompsons?

"Of course. And by the way, Noah Thompson is a real hottie. Isn’t that the right word from your era? Very dark and gorgeous. He has this short dark beard. Mmmmm." Natalie grinned at her grandmother, readjusting the sketch pad on her lap.

Yes. That’s the right word if he’s a really good looking man. She snapped the fan shut and used it to bat at Natalie’s shoulder. "And that’s for the era remark!"

Natalie’s laughter gurgled in her throat. "You don’t have me fooled for a minute, Grammy. You’re still a wicked, wicked woman in your heart. You know what hottie means."

Of course, I do. The older woman moved her fan leisurely. You mean that the Thompson boy is damned good looking.

He’s not a boy, Grammy, she corrected, the pencil in her hand moving surely and rapidly. He has facial hair and everything.

They were sitting in the common gardens of Grammy’s retirement apartment and the day had already started to warm.

Did you see Scott Thompson? He was Danny’s partner at Scruffy Boys, back in the day.

No, Natalie said slowly, still sketching.

That salvage yard belongs partly to you, Natalie. I don’t want you to ignore it.

I’m not, Grammy. This whole situation was preying on her grandmother’s mind, she knew. I just have to figure the best way to go about this.

I should have taken care of this years ago. Her grandmother waved the fan more vigorously. It’s just that after Danny died, I had a lot to deal with and I didn’t even find out what he’d done with the land until later. I thought it was just sitting there.

Very aware that other retirement apartment occupants were in the garden, strolling the paths, sitting with their needlework on other park benches, Natalie shifted toward her Grammy and kept her voice level. You were busy raising me after my mom and dad left. I’m the last one to say you ought to have taken care of this, too.

I’m saying it. Grammy’s gravelly voice got even stronger. This is your inheritance, Natalie. I don’t have anything else to leave you, but the land that I inherited from my father.

Natalie reached out, placing her hand over the veined clutch Grammy had on the now-still fan. You’ve already given me more than any child could hope for.

The older woman’s hand started moving again in jerky motions. Natalie, most children have parents.  You didn’t.

Maybe not. The sketch pad discarded now on the bench between them, Natalie placed both her hands over her grandmother’s. Maybe my mom and dad did bug out—

Bug out?! Is that a fancy way to say they abandoned you and disappeared?!

It’s alright, Grammy, Natalie soothed. I had you and I’ve always felt very loved. You gave me everything, sacrificed for me in many ways!

Her grandmother’s hand came over to convulsively clutch hers. I want you to have everything, Natalie. You didn’t have the parents you deserve—and don’t think I’m not aware that the mother who abandoned you was my own daughter—but you need to get the inheritance I have to leave you.

Don’t talk like you’re going anywhere soon, Natalie scolded.

Her Grammy sent her a sardonic glance. Don’t kid yourself. I’m not a young woman—I feel it every morning when I get up—and I’ve got a bad heart to boot.

Natalie picked up her sketch pad again. Then get up more slowly and don’t push yourself.

The land that salvage yard sits on belongs to you, Natalie. It was mine. I inherited it and I never consented for Danny to sell it to his partner.

But it was sold. Natalie kept her voice low, hoping her grandmother wouldn’t get more riled up. Scruffy Boy’s Architectural Salvage sits on it now.

Her grandmother heaved an irritated sigh. I know. Danny handed it over to Scott Thompson, but he had no right to the land. I never signed to release it. Danny must have forged my name.

Natalie didn’t say anything immediately. She remembered her grandfather, even though he’d died when she was only ten. The years before when she was even younger, he’d just been a shadowy part of her life. Grammy had done everything, taken care of her practically since birth. She remembered only scraps about her parents and not much more about the grandfather who’d ended up cheating Grammy of her inherited land.

Didn’t you say that Grandad sold the land to Scott Thompson when he took a payout and left the business?

"Yes, but the land wasn’t his to sell. Scott Thompson must have known that. It’s your land, Natalie! And I won’t rest until you get a settlement or get the land back."

Natalie looked down at the sketchpad in her hands, the flowers on it now roughed in. I know, Grammy. I know. Just give me some time to work this out.  I’ll talk with the Scruffy Boys’ owners. I promise.

Well, howdy! A gnarled old man stopped in front of the bench where they sat. Who is this pretty girl visiting you, Mary Ellen?

He waggled his hoary eyebrows at Natalie as she started laughing gently.

Memory getting bad, Mason? You know Natalie comes to see me all the time, Grammy responded in a chiding tone.

Of course! Hello, Miss Natalie. He winked at her.

Hello, Mr. Pettigrew. How are you?

As well as can be expected for a man of my age. He whipped his response back at her, shifting to lean more on the carved cane in his hand. But I can still rumba! Just ask your grandma.

Sitting next to her, Grammy laughed, putting her hand out as if to shush the elderly man.

Do you know how to rumba, Little Miss Natalie?

Both she and her grandmother were laughing now.

"Mr. Pettigrew! No, I don’t know how to rumba, but I bet you do, you naughty old man. Now don’t you go getting my Grammy into trouble of any kind."

Why, Girlie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. He gave a wheezing peal of laughter. I’ll bet a pretty young thing like you has to beat the men off with a stick! Even if you don’t rumba.

Natalie took the fan from her Grammy’s hand and unfurled it in front of her face. Why Mr. Pettigrew. Don’t make me blush.

The old gentleman cackled. You’re a sweet girl, Miss Natalie. Come give me a kiss before you go. I promise I won’t get out of hand.

Natalie returned the fan to her Grammy with a cheeky grin. Give you a kiss? Do you think I want my Grammy to think I’m trying to steal her rumba partner?

The old man in front of her shifted his cane to his other hand and sauntered off, chuckling.

She watched him go, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. You need to watch out for that one, Grammy.

Her grandmother shifted comfortably on the park bench. Think so? You take care of your love life, Missy, and I’ll take care of mine.

*

Folding his newspaper into a compact size to grip in one hand, Noah shifted closer to the café table and lifted his coffee cup to his lips.

Excuse me! The chair next to him was pulled out from the table and he was shocked to see her—the sexy designer from the salvage yard—seat herself at his table, smiling at him brightly.

Um...hello? Lowering the cup to the table, he stared at the woman. Can I do something for you, Miss—er? I don’t think I remember your name.

She crossed her arms on the table in front of her, still smiling at him. I’m Natalie. Trefalger. Remember?

Natalie?

Yes, I’m Natalie. Danny Trefalger’s granddaughter?

Noah frowned. "Danny Tre—Uncle Danny? My dad’s old partner?"

Her smile brightened. Yes! I would guess you and your brothers did call him Uncle Danny.

Okay. I haven’t seen your...grandfather...for twenty years. I don’t know.

It would be weird if you had.... He’s been dead for almost that long.

Laying his newspaper down on the small table’s top, he resigned himself to having his quiet moment disrupted. You wanted to talk to me, Ms. Trefalger? You took the stained glass window with you and I told you I’d drop off the little cabinet you purchased.

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. That’s not why I’m here. Call me Natalie, Noah. You need to call me Natalie.

Okay...Natalie. It was easier to humor her. You want to talk to me?

I do. Natalie scooted her chair closer to the table. It’s this way, Noah.  I’ve figured a way we can help each other.

He stared at her, narrowing his eyes a little as he tried to understand what she was saying. I still don’t follow you, Ms. Trefalger.

It’s about the land the Scruffy Boy’s Architectural Salvage Yard sits on. The dark haired sprite smiled at him again.

The land?

Yes. She rested her hands on the mini table, spreading out her fingers as she pressed her palms to the wooden surface. I don’t know how much you know about the arrangements—since you were pretty young when my granddaddy was partners with your father. Well, I was pretty young myself.

He found no reason to respond to this, still watching her with undeniable fascination. Kind of like an annoying, but attractive insect that wouldn’t fly away.

Anyway, you know my granddaddy sold his land to your father when they dissolved the partnership.

Yes.

The petite black-haired woman wrinkled her nose again. Well, the problem is, Noah, my grandfather didn’t actually own the land.

What? I don’t know what you mean. You just said he sold it to my dad.

She nodded, before glancing over with a sympathetic smile. He did...but he didn’t have legal rights to the land.

Trying to assimilate what she was saying, Noah stared at Natalie.

My Grammy inherited that land from her daddy. It wasn’t my granddad’s to sell. She shrugged. Who knew? I’m sure your daddy didn’t.

Ms. Trefalger, I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.... Or why it’s my problem, to be honest with you.

Call me Natalie, she insisted again. It’s just this, Noah. I have a very unhappy Grammy who has a real bee in her bonnet about this. She doesn’t have much and she’s determined to leave me something. Grammy raised me. She’s like my mom. Well, way better than my mom, actually—and she’s determined that I get the land that your salvage yard sits on.

What? You’ve got to be kidding me!

Natalie shook her head with another rueful smile. No and Grammy’s very troubled by this. She’s not a woman who wears her heart on her sleeve, but she’s really concerned about this.

You want me to tell my brothers ‘Sorry, we have to hand this land over to this girl because her grandmother thinks it’s hers’? He pushed a little back from the table. You’re crazy, woman!

Natalie’s faint sympathetic smile didn’t waver. That may be true, but it doesn’t change things.

Hell, no.

Well, Grammy has a copy of her father’s will, leaving her the land, and she got a copy of the bill of sale between granddaddy and your father—Scott Thompson—from the court house and the signature on the bill of sale is clearly not Grammy’s.

Noah’s frown deepened as he suddenly began considering that the woman in front of him may have a serious claim to the salvage yard.

Natalie’s sigh was deep. Not hers, at all.

You think my father forged her name and stole the land? he asked incredulously. His father was as honest as the day was long.

No. Her expressive face was suddenly sheepish. "I think my granddaddy pulled a fast one back in the day. He must have forged Grammy’s name on the bill of sale."

Oh. Natalie, this all had to have happened at least twenty years ago. You said yourself that your grandfather has been dead for twenty years.

I know. Plenty of time for you and your brothers—and your father in the beginning—to have built up lots of architectural salvage on it.

Noah