Hot Deal

By Jerry Byrum

Blaze Brimstone, 28-year-old, newly assigned preacher to a shrinking country church, is tempted by rough-cut member Jasper Woodfield, who sits on the back pew. His presence reminds her she is very much a woman with desires of the flesh. But she carries old baggage from a failed marriage, and at the same time she’s tortured by career self-doubt. A growing Hot Deal rattles the town’s deepest emotions at a high school graduation. Rogue attorney, Griz Winters, and his side-kick private investigator peel back the layers of the scandalous Hot Deal, swirling with a quartet of teenagers. But as the scandal is laid bare, the lives of the winners and losers are also stripped naked. Not until the unspeakable scandal is uncovered, does the entire county become involved in a live or die war of hot emotions. Everything Blaze and one of her teenage members want is at risk, when they confront the county with hardcore choices that bring national attention. Not until the final tally will the winners and losers be sorted out.

(Notice: Hot Deal is a stand-alone novel, but it’s connected to the novel, Hot Snow. You’ll remember a few familiar characters from Hot Snow, but you’ll meet brand new characters and new twists in Hot Deal. It’s the next big deal.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jerry Byrum
• Release date: Jul 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301152322

Jerry Byrum

Jerry Byrum is a native of North Carolina and a graduate of High Point University, and East Carolina University. After service in the U.S. Army, Jerry taught public school science six years, and served as a science consultant four years. He enjoyed a 25-year career as a national representative of the American Federation of Teachers, with assignments in more than 30 states. His passions are his family, writing, reading, teaching, speaking, and quilting. He writes and relaxes from the mountains to the coast of the variety vacation-land, North Carolina. He enjoys writing edgy contemporary romance with strong female protagonists and other runaway characters usually on a mission to satisfy their passions. Jerry writes complete, stand-alone stories, and you may read them in any order. He is a member of the Romance Writers of America.

Book preview

The gray Buick coughed and jerked up the drive, leaving a trail of smoke and stench.

The shirtless man standing on the roof of the white clapboard church wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. He watched the old clunker grind to a stop, brakes squealing, metal on metal. He flinched, as if listening to finger nails scratch down an old fashioned slate chalk board.

The car gave a final shudder, as the driver killed the engine and bolted from the vehicle. Hey! What’s going on up there?

The man on the roof turned to his partner. Calvin, take over while I deal with this.

He made his way down the slanted roof to the edge, reaching out for a limb of the stout oak tree, then swinging down, his work boots making a thud, as his two-hundred pound lean and tanned body settled. He had a full head of thick medium brown hair, damp from perspiring in the mid-morning April sun.

The driver spouted more questions as the man approached. Who gave you permission to be up there doing whatever you’re doing? And who are you? There was sharpness in the voice.

The man chuckled as he came to a stop, but still grinning. My Aunt Martha told me I needed to make the repairs immediately, since the weather forecast is calling for thunderstorms in a couple of days.

Well, I don’t recall any vote by the church board giving approval.

He took another step and said, I’m Jasper. You must be…

I’m Blaze Brimstone, the new pastor of Redemption United Mission Church.

His smile broadened. I thought I recognized you. He paused. You’re…much prettier in street clothes. His eyes had been swimming all over her long, gilded blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, and trim figure, revealed by summer breezes shaping her bright floral cotton dress around her. An attractive face, with a tempting mouth, he thought.

But he sensed her discomfort, as she eyed him up and down, finally staring at his broad chest.

My apologies for not having a shirt on; left it on the roof. He motioned with his right arm.

Her eyes followed the rippling of his muscles covered with a muted sheen of sweat and smudges of construction dust and smears of roofing tar across his chiseled face. Uh…like I said I don’t recall this project being approved by the board. Are you charging for this…this work you’re doing? She motioned toward the roof.

He smiled. I charge for all of my work, and I’ll send the bill directly to you.

In that case, maybe you’d better not proceed. She tilted her head; he was a good eight inches taller.

He thought a moment. Okay. Do you want me to unpatch the holes in the roof?

Feeling boxed in, she snapped, Of course not, that wouldn’t make any sense…look, this is not a good time to discuss this; I’m going to be late for an important out-of-town meeting. She glanced at the mud-caked truck parked under the oak tree, trying to read the lettering on the door. How do I contact you Mr. Jas…do you have a business or—

Here’s my business card. He’d slipped a small case from his cargo pants. Jasper’s Junkyard and Roofing Company; all my contact info is listed. Call anytime. His rich green eyes rested on her full lips.

She thumped the card on her manicured fingers.

Okay, I’ll deal with this later. Right now, I need to get a few things from the church office, and be on my way.

He nodded, locking on her blue eyes, until she turned and headed toward the office door, her heels tapping on the concrete walk.

She felt rushed, as she turned the church door knob, but couldn’t resist looking back over her shoulder, then wishing she hadn’t.

He was still standing near her car, smiling, and then gave her another nod.

She was distracted by strange desires of the flesh, when sixty-year-old Carla Simpson, a church volunteer, greeted her. Good morning, Pastor Brimstone.

Oh…oh, good morning, Carla. Hope you’re doing well today. Carla sat at her desk in a small glassed-in reception office. The adjoining office was the equally small pastor’s study with a single window overlooking the parking lot and additional church property.

After a few minutes of chit-chat, Pastor Brimstone asked, Do you know anything about this Jasper fellow and who gave him permission to make repairs?

Have you met him? Carla smiled.

Just now, in the parking lot.

Well, he’s one of the nicest men in town.

He is? He seemed a little rough around the edges…and a little…pushy. She stirred within, thinking about how his eyes had watched her. She snatched a couple of file folders from her desk and returned to Carla.

She looked up from her small desk, chuckling. Well, that’s Jasper being Jasper.

The pastor, with left hand on hip said, That doesn’t answer this thing about unauthorized repairs. We’ll go bankrupt, if we allow people to do whatever and send bills to the church, willy-nilly. She wiggled the folders in her right hand.

Carla took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. I know you’ve only been here a few weeks and probably haven’t had time to make an evaluation of our small membership, but when you do you’ll find that Jasper Woodfield is one of the major contributors to our church.

She laughed, then continued, In the past, before we received the bill for work that Jasper had done, he’d add to his regular contribution an amount equal to his bill plus two-hundred dollars. We’d get his bill a couple of weeks later. He never mentioned it. It took me awhile to figure out what he was doing. So don’t worry about him ripping off the church. She smiled, shaking her head.

Is he…

Married?

The pastor blushed as she said, Well…I was going to ask if he is…is…uh…reliable?

The pastor was lying, and Carla knew the pastor was lying.

Carla smiling, said, Jasper is reliable, but he’s no longer married.

Pastor Brimstone eyed the clock on Carla’s desk. I’d better get moving. Thanks Carla for your dedicated service to our church.

Carla beamed her sweet smile. You should get to know Jasper. You’re about his age; thirty-something?

There was a moment of silence between the two women, as they looked at each other.

Pastor Brimstone smiled, shaking her head. See you in a couple of days, Carla. She turned the door knob, and headed for her car thinking, that’s the last thing I need, getting involved with some rough-edged, gritty man.

Jasper heard the high heels coming down the walk, but didn’t look up; he was still busy under the hood of her worn Buick. But he felt her presence, when he caught the scent of her fragrance. And he caught her wrath when she said, "Now, what are you doing Mr. Woodfield? I didn’t authorize you—"

Where’s your meeting?

Asheville. Why?

He straightened up, wiping grease from his hands, grinning. You’re not going anywhere in this piece of junk.

"That’s my car, junk or not. What’s wrong with it?"

No insult intended about your car. You’ve got a water pump problem, some of the hoses are rotten, he reached over and flipped two of them. When you came up the drive I could tell your engine is about to blow and your brakes are metal on metal.

Fluid gurgled from beneath the engine.

She glanced at the grimy engine. I can’t do anything about that now. I have to get to this emergency district meeting. I’ll deal with this when I get back. She pulled back a strand of hair from her face, staring at her car.

Pastor Brimstone, your car is not drivable, and it’s not safe. He pulled keys from his pocket. Take my vehicle to your meeting. I’ll tow your car to my place and check it out…see if it’s fixable.

She glanced over at his muddy truck. I doubt if I could drive your truck, and I know I couldn’t see through the dirty windshield. Her mouth turned up.

He grinned. Calvin Wainright, my business partner, is driving the truck. My vehicle is parked in the shade on the other side of the church. Here, take my keys, and don’t be late for your meeting.

She glanced at her watch, chewing on the corner of her lip. I won’t be back until after lunch on Saturday. Is that going to work?

That’s perfect. Meet me at two o’clock at the Illegal Grounds Coffee Bar inside Book Fever on East Main Street. You can return my keys then.

He dropped them in her hand.

She shouldered her bag and put out her other hand to shake, then jerked it back.

He raised both palms toward her. Hands are too dirty. I promise to be clean on Saturday. We can touch then. His green flecked eyes, under full lashes, rested on her face.

She licked her lips. Swallowed, looked down, then back at him, with a small nod. I’d better grab my overnight bag from my trunk and go. Thank you for your help with transportation.

He nodded. Think nothing of it.

After she handed him her keys, he watched her disappear around the corner of the front of the church. He lowered the hood of her car, then headed back up on the roof.

Pastor Brimstone was mulling over ‘We can touch then.’ Wonder what he meant by that. There’s something magnetic about him, but he was so dirty and had a devilish look in his eye. But as The Good Book says, ‘man looks on the outside, but God looks on the inside of a person.’ But that still doesn’t make him a saint.

She was running through a variety of theological considerations regarding Jasper Woodfield, when she rounded the other corner of the church, coming to a dead stand-still. Her eyes got wide, mouth flew open, but stunned speechless, before exhaling, I do not believe this.

She glanced at her watch, walked the rest of the way, got in the vehicle, and slammed the door. Damn! Sorry, Lord. I’ve prayed for a small church that would be suitable for me, and maybe a special man along the way, and what do I get? A little country church falling apart and some…some rogue of a man crossing my path, tempting my womanly flesh. What’s that all about, Lord? Is this a test? What? I know I’m rambling; I promise to get back to you later tonight. Just help me get to the meeting on time…please?

She hooked her seatbelt, looked around the fancy restored interior, turned the key, and was blasted by Pit Bull on the stereo, gutted mufflers, and a dashboard flashing every color in the rainbow. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and mashed the accelerator easing the vehicle down the drive and onto Redemption Highway. The fiery red reconditioned hearse, with yellow-orange striped flames down the sides, streaked for her meeting in Asheville, North Carolina.

Up on the roof, Jasper chuckled at the echo of the mufflers as she drove out of sight.

Chapter Two

As Saturday afternoon rolled around, gray clouds were moving in from the west, preparing for a couple days of spring showers. Jasper had knocked off work around noon, fixed a quick bite of lunch, and showered up so he could meet that pretty pastor, Blaze Brimstone, at the coffee bar downtown. He hadn’t been able to get her off his mind. He was thinking how she was the answer to many random prayers he’d prayed over the past two years.

Pastor Brimstone was winding her way back up the mountain to Winter Village, fuming every mile, thinking that her prayers had apparently failed miserably. She kept imagining receiving an email stating: PRAYERS UNDELIVERABLE, ADDRESSEE UNKNOWN. Lord, where are you? Then she was brought back to reality with the blaring and honking of more horns, and leering drivers as they passed her, waving and giving a variety of hand signals.

Jasper had arrived sharply at 1:30 at Book Fever that was a quaint bookshop which housed Illegal Grounds Coffee Bar. While waiting for Blaze Brimstone, he perused the monthly list of recommended books posted by bookshop owner, April Winters. He made his purchase, staked out a table for two near the front window, and began scanning the front matter of his new book, glancing up frequently, watching for that pretty pastor.

A little after two o’clock he saw the flaming red hearse pull into a parking space on the street. The wind was gusting a bit as the weather front made its way across the mountain peaks. As the pastor leaned to gather her bag from the passenger seat, her left foot was reaching for the asphalt. A gust of wind blew her aqua floral dress up her thigh. Jasper’s heart surged at her shapely leg. He tried to calm himself, as he watched her make her way from the street and up the steps of Book Fever.

She stepped through the door setting off a subtle jingle from a bell. Her glance passed him by, as she scanned the room and other customers. Her shoulders slumped, as her eyes retraced the faces, this time catching his smile.

She walked to his table. Mr. Woodfield? I…I didn’t recognize you at first.

He smiled. Amazing what a long bath can do for a person, isn’t it? He quickly motioned her to the opposite chair, pulling it out, and lightly touching her shoulder as she sat.

You must be tired from your drive. What can I get you to drink and eat?

Glancing back at the large menu of coffee and tea drinks posted on the wall, she said, This is my first time here. What do you recommend?

I usually go with their brew of the day. Saturday’s is called Something Sinful.

The pastor gave a short scoffing laugh. That’d be the perfect blend after the hellacious experience I’ve had. Before he could respond, she continued, as she dug through her pocket book, Darn, I’m out of aspirin; I’ve got a splitting headache on top of everything else.

He held up a finger. Hold your thoughts; I’ll get our coffee, and they also have aspirin. He left the table before she could speak.

Her eyes followed his relaxed walk. His muted green short-sleeve cotton shirt and jeans fit him comfortably. He left behind the faint fresh scent of his cologne, pleasant. He was certainly not the same dirt-covered man repairing the church roof the other day. But she knew he was one and the same. Why else would her heart be thumping strangely? And that wasn’t helping her headache.

Jasper returned with two steaming coffees, two large cups of water, and a plate decked with a sampler of fresh baked cookies, muffins, and breads. Thought I’d bring an assortment for you to sample.

That brought a smile to her face. She downed two aspirin with her water, and began sipping her coffee. She massaged her temples, and exhaled a few times.

He sensed her tension, and said, I can tell you’ve got lots on your mind; just relax a bit, and then we can talk.

She smiled. Thanks. That might be a good idea.

They were silent for several minutes. She glanced at the shelves of books lining the walls, then she took in the view of the gorge out front that divided the town into the east and west side. She couldn’t resist catching glimpses of Jasper, noting his strong-cut face, rich green eyes, followed by a flow of warmth through her middle.

The low conversational tones of the bookshop, with soft laughter from customers were soothing to her, and so was his unhurried presence. But why is my heart beating faster, she wondered. Must be my headache.

They both nibbled from the plate of goodies. Faint background music wafted through the air with the rich aroma of coffee and baked goods. She felt calmer, but not completely.

"I’m going to be very honest with you. And blunt, if you don’t mind?

Of course. What happened on your trip?

Everything! First of all, I can’t believe you would do that to me, me being a pastor and all.

His face was a puzzle. Doing what?

That sticker.

What sticker?

That bumper sticker. Honk if you’re horny!" Her voice edged up in volume.

Heads turned, with smiles, and plenty of chuckles. Some of the locals knew about the bumper sticker.

A smile crept slowly across his face. Oh, that sticker. Calvin put that thing on the car a few months ago, as a joke. I’d forgotten about it. But how was that a problem?

"Are you dense? Every damned car on the highway blew their horn. That problem." She massaged her temples again, then took a sip of coffee.

He smiled at her, saying quietly, I’ve got news for you; they weren’t honking at the sticker. I’d honk at you no matter what you were driving. He held his coffee cup out, as if to toast her, then took a sip.

She shook her head, but another wave of warmth coursed through her. And where did you get that hideous blazing vehicle? She raised her palms.

Pieced it together from junk parts, did a custom paint job on it for a rock band out of Charlotte. They decided they couldn’t pay the price. But I have another prospect who might buy it next month.

"Well, I caught plenty of glares when I pulled into the parking area at the meeting in Asheville…over two hundred preachers gawking and taking photos of the fiery hearse and bumper sticker. The photos are probably all over Facebook." She blew a puff of air, then took another selection from the baked goodies.

He chuckled. Maybe I’ll get more prospects for the hearse from their postings.

She rolled her eyes. Speaking of transportation, what about my car?

He took another sip of coffee. "If parts are available, you’ll end up spending four-thousand or more trying to get it fixed, and then you run the risk of something else breaking. I’ve got some parts in my junkyard, but it’s hard to find them for cars over 15-20 years old."

She rolled her bottom lip in.

He popped a piece of cookie in his mouth, then took another sip of coffee. After we finish here, I’ll take you to my business and show you your car.

Worried, she said, "I’ve got to have a car; I guess I’ll have to check out the used car lots." She ran her hand through her thick hair.

Is that where you got this one?

She nodded, staring at her coffee cup.

How long have you driven it?

About six months. I paid five-thousand for it. She huffed.

He released a low whistle through his teeth, knowing that she’d paid way too much.

Well. Her shoulders slumped again.

A couple of suggestions… He waited.

I’m open… She shrugged.

"If I sold your car for junk pieces at top prices, I could probably get two-thousand, retail max. I’ll just go ahead and pay you that up front. I’ll recoup it over time. In the meantime while you’re getting a few paychecks ahead, you could drive my car—"

Uh, no. She shook her head decisively Thanks for offering, but I don’t think the hearse would be appropriate transportation for me. I do enough real funerals as a pastor. She chuckled, then looked through the window at the rain beginning to fall. Her left hand and forearm were resting on the table.

He reached out, covering her hand with his right.

She turned her head slowly, looking down at his hand, all grease and grime gone, then locked on his green eyes.

He said, "Pastor Brimstone, I have a normal car that I think would suit you, and you’re welcome to drive it until you have time to make a decision. After we finish here you can inspect it, test drive it…" He curled his hand around her soft fingers, watching her light blue eyes.

She thought, so this is what he had in mind when he said in the church parking lot, ‘we can touch then.’

The heat from his hand sent a flood of warmth up her arm, through her body, places that had been still for too long. She cleared her throat, swallowing. Um…well…

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and released it. Okay, deal.

"No…I mean I’ll look at your car—"

Looking is part of the deal. He took a beat. How’s your headache?

Better. Tension can get to you, can’t it?

He nodded.

She pointed. New book?

I try to read one each week. He motioned toward the checkout counter. "The owner, April Winters, posts a monthly list of recommendations. I pick a few from there. War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy, is a classic. He chuckled. Probably take me a month or more to wade through this one."

What college did you go to?

"I didn’t…well, that’s not entirely true. I went, but didn’t enjoy it. I guess I was anxious to do something, rather than read about it, so I was in the military three years, then came back home and started a business with a few junk cars, and roofed a few houses. Since then, I’ve gotten a business degree online from East Carolina University. He paused. What about you?"

She was having a hard time reconciling a junkyard dealer reading the classics, before she answered. Grew up in Charlotte, graduated from High Point University, finished Divinity School, served a couple of associate positions, and landed here at twenty-eight. She paused briefly.

But that’s probably going to be short-lived. Before I got out of Asheville, I received a terse email from District Bishop Wayne Foster to call him first thing Monday morning to discuss a personal matter. I heard from a couple of people at the meeting that he was furious about the vehicle I was driving and the word I was spreading. Must be your lovely bumper sticker. She raked her hands through her long hair again, looked at him, then shrugged. "Sorry I’m not in the proper preacher mode this afternoon.

He smiled. Nothing wrong with your mode or mood. You look beautiful, his eyes dancing across her face, and I’m sure everything will work out okay.

She thought, how can he be so calm about everything. Well, of course, he’s not in the middle of maybe losing his job.

He gestured toward the street. Ready? You can follow me out to my business and we’ll take a look at your car. Let’s trade keys; you’ll be able to test drive my normal car.

She glanced out at the street. It’s raining now, and I don’t have an umbrella.

I do. He reached beside his chair. I figured it would rain.

They walked down the sidewalk, sprinkled with quaint boutiques, toward his regular car. With one arm around her shoulders, holding her close, he shielded her from the rain with his umbrella. He guided her to a late model, mist blue SUV.

She stopped abruptly. Oh, no, Mr. Woodfield, I can’t drive a nice car like this. What if I wreck it? Her face quizzing him.

He chuckled. You’re not going to wreck it, and if you do, well…wrecks can be fixed or junked. Remember, junk is my business. He glanced at her.

She exhaled forcefully through her teeth. Guess I don’t have much choice, Mr. Wood—

I’ll continue to call you Pastor Brimstone, but please call me Jasper; I’m used to that.

As she slid into the seat, she took a moment, looking at him with a smile and said, Okay, Jasper, but you must call me Blaze. Then there was a distant look in her eyes. I don’t hear my first name that often.

He leaned across her, removing a small box from the passenger seat, placing it on the floorboard. His shoulders and neck were inches from her, and when he backed out, his forearm brushed the tips of her breasts, sending quivers and quakes through her female flesh.

Just follow the hearse. My business is about three miles from here.

After he closed the door, his clean scent lingered. As she gripped the steering wheel, she said out loud, Oh, Lord, what have I gotten myself into? He is rattling my insides, but you already know this, right? She shook her head.

Jasper slipped into the fire-breathing hearse, noticing a message Blaze had written to herself on a pad, then started the car, backed out and pulled down the street, letting her drop in behind. Out on the highway, he said out loud, Lord, thank you for lighting my fire with Blaze.

He turned off Redemption highway onto a winding two-lane asphalt road, flanked by thick hardwoods, coming shortly to a clearing hidden from the main highway. A fence surrounded ten acres of junked vehicles, with neatly labeled signs indicating make, model, and year. Some major parts, windshields, door panels, and others appeared to be categorized separately. As Blaze looked through the fence, she thought, his junkyard is better organized than my closet or desk drawer. Hmmm, interesting man.

Four company trucks were parked in a line, any evidence of caked mud was gone. An assortment of five other heavy equipment vehicles, and a bulldozer were parked orderly in another area.

He opened her door, holding the umbrella for her, as they walked to a side gate. Three Labrador Retrievers were barking like crazy until Jasper gave the command, Quiet. He put his arm around her shoulders again, speaking to the dogs, Friends. We’re friends. He paused. They stood alert. Ball. Play. Ball. The dogs raced for the porch overhang, sitting patiently.

Blaze looked up at him. Will they jump up on my dress?

No. They’re well trained. They know the meaning of friend, and from day one I’ve taught them not to jump on people. Right now they’re interested in playing ball for a few minutes, because then I give them a treat.

He unlocked the gate and they made their way over to the office porch, where the dogs sat motionless, sharing a few throaty noises. Jasper pulled three balls from a net container hanging from a hook. He tossed each ball in a different direction. Go, girls, go! The dogs bounded off. That’ll keep them busy. They’ll get a treat later.

They headed through the office, and into a large shop area.

Do the dogs stay outside all the time? What about bad weather?

He chuckled. They live a life of luxury. On the other side of the shop they have a heated dog house with beds, and automated water and food dispensers. Their facilities are checked twice daily, and I give them plenty of attention. They know I love them.

They continued walking to the back of the shop. But they’re probably the worst guard dogs. They’re kind of like church people; they make a lot of noise, but don’t take much action.

Is that how you view church people? Her pretty mouth formed a hard line.

Some of us, sometimes. He pointed, as they came to a stop before a heap of faded metal. Well, here’s your junker.

She winced, thinking that the old car had served her well while it lasted, but she immediately started worrying about having to put out more money for a replacement. Her savings were at the bottom of her bucket.

He went down a list that one of his shop guys had printed out, explaining what would need fixing, then he went over a breakdown of the value of the different parts if declared junk. He thumped the paper. Looks like Calvin reassessed some of the parts, upwards. That’s in your favor, so I can offer you…cash for your car…uh…four-thousand dollars. That’s two-thousand more than I first estimated. Glad he checked behind me.

He could tell she was deep in thought, standing beside him. He reached, putting his hands lightly on her shoulders, and turning her directly facing him. There’s no rush. Take your time thinking about it. You can let me know later. And I’ll go with you when you look for another car.

She nodded. You’ve been very helpful. Thank you. She felt a cautious comfort just being with him.

The rain slacked off, while they stood talking in the front office. She never imagined a junkyard being clean and orderly. He seemed too good to be true, and maybe he was. She was having second thoughts about borrowing his new car. Maybe that wouldn’t be wise of me, until I know more about him.

You’re very generous to offer your car, but…but what if you need it for…for a date or something? Where did that question come from, she thought.

For a date? In that case you’d be driving by to pick me up, so I could take you to dinner sometime. His eyes flashed a yearning, as he locked on her eyes.

There was an awkward silence. The dogs barked playfully in the distance.

"While it’s not raining, I’ll help you transfer your belongings from the hearse. You know, I just thought of something. If you prefer the hearse I could do a re-lettering down the side and call it Pastor Brimstone’s Blazing Chariot or something creative like that."

She laughed but swatted him on the shoulder with the papers he’d given her. "You’re a jokester, you know that? I still think you put that bumper