"I...uh..." Jane stammered. What do I want from him? Nothing! I knew this was too good to be true. He'll dump me out in the cold. And not even let me keep the food I bought. Her eyes stung.

"New Jersey to Texas doesn't bring you anywhere near Nebraska."

"What? Oh. I had to go to Omaha first."

"Why?"

"I was looking for someone."

"Find him?"

"Her," she corrected, shaking her head. "Not exactly."

"Her?"

"Someone who knew my grandmother."

Prett looked confused. "You went to Omaha to look for a woman who knew your grandmother." He said it as a statement rather than a question.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Why does he need to know? 

"I thought she could help me," Jane said.

"With what?"

He doesn't need to know. "She'd written me a letter saying to contact her if I ever needed anything. But when I tried to find her, I couldn't. I searched online and made phone calls, but... So I went to Omaha to the only address I had, and...I found out she'd died a few years ago."

"What did you need from her?"

Jane let out a breath, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter anymore. I just wondered who she was, and how she knew my grandmother, and why she'd sent me–why she'd sent me such a nice letter."

"You didn't know?"

"No. She sent the letter years ago, but I didn't...it wasn't given to me, so I never saw it. Until last month when I sorted through boxes in storage. I'd never heard of her before, and my grandmother died a long time ago, so..." She shrugged. "I just...I wanted to find her is all. But she's dead, so it doesn't matter anymore."

"I see," Prett said.

No, he doesn't. I left out the biggest part. She picked at a thread on her pant leg. But if I tell him, I'll sound pathetic. Or greedy.

"How did you end up at Country Skillet?" he asked.

Jane glanced at him. "The mechanic who fixed my transmission told me about it. He knew I was running out of money. He said there was a truck stop where I'd get help. But I wasn't going west from Omaha. I was going south. Then I lost my cash." She stared at the snow accumulating on the windshield. "And I had nowhere else to go. So I took a chance and just started driving. Almost ran out of gas. I didn't think anyone would really help me. And no one did." She turned to him. "Till you showed up." She had a sudden realization. "Do you suppose he meant you? The mechanic?"

Again Prett was quiet. Then he said, "Gerry's Garage."

"Yeah! That's the name! How'd you know?"

"Gerry Gingery. Holly's brother." He looked at her. "He told you to find me?"

"Well, not exactly. I mean, he said there were people at the truck stop who would help me. He didn't give any names. He didn't even describe you. Or your brothers." Jane paused. "I wonder why not, if he meant you?"

"I should think that's obvious."

Obvious? Jane gave her head a slight shake.

"If he'd told you the help would be three bearded hillbillies–two who don't even speak–would you have still headed west?"

"Oh." Jane snickered. "I guess not."That's insulting. "I mean–I didn't mean–" She furrowed her brows. "Are you going to take me back?"

"Back where?"

"To the truck stop?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're mad at me."

"Mad at you?"

"For calling–for thinking you're odd."

Prett let out a short bark as if to laugh. He looked away, then turned back, his expression guarded. "I'm not mad. And even if I were, I'd never put you at the mercy of Gavin Turney. But I have been rude to you, and that's unacceptable. Will you forgive me?"

Forgive him? "Uh, yeah. Will you forgive me for thinking you're strange?"

"There's nothing to forgive. You don't need to apologize for having an opinion."

"Oh."

He looked away as though unsure what to say next. He scratched his cheek. "I think we should start over." He stuck out his hand. "Hi, I'm Prett Marvel."

She smiled hesitantly as she took his rough hand. "Jane Johnson."

"I can offer you a job."

"I need the money."

He squeezed her hand. Her heart quickened and she inexplicably flushed.

"Fair warning I have two thirty-something adolescent brothers and," he twitched his head, "I'm an oddity unto myself."

"That's okay. I'm not afraid of boys with beards, and...as for odd," she pulled her hand out of his to touch her jacket's collar, "I'm the one wearing neon pink."

Prett gave a one-shoulder shrug. "I can deal with that." He removed the sunglasses from his beanie, slid them on, and looked at her with his best poker face. She beamed, but he turned away.

They sat without speaking, the only sounds the engine's muffled rumbling and the rushing air blowing from vents. Whew. I still have this job. Such as it is. Jane shifted in her seat. He's being too quiet now. "So, why don't your brothers talk?"

Prett took his time answering. "Well," he said, turning his face slightly towards her, "they got mad and said if I kept bossing them around, they'd quit speaking to me." He shrugged. "Sounded like a winning proposition, so I took them up on it."

"You're not serious."

"I'm always serious."

"They stopped speaking because they got mad at you?"

"Something like that."

"Then why don't they speak to other people? Are they mad at them, too?"

"Not necessarily. Take strangers. They know better than to talk to 'em."Jane laughed in response. Prett added, "Didn't your mama ever tell you not to speak to strangers?"

"Well, yeah, but–"

"There you go."

"But that doesn't apply when you're an adult."

"Maybe it ought."

Jane scoffed. "If it did, you wouldn't have spoken to me. And I'd still be sitting in my car, cold and hungry."

"Yet much more fashionably dressed."

Jane laughed again. "Exactly. But what about people who aren't strangers? Like Mrs. Gingery. Do they speak to her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because they're also insufferably rude."

Jane shook her head. He doesn't want to tell me the real reason. "So why does Danny call you beautiful?" She swirled her hand in front of her face.

"You asking the question implies I'm not."

"No, I–" Can't you go two sentences without insulting the guy? Hey, he's the one who said not to apologize for having an opinion. He's not beautiful. He's not ugly either, just...average. But don't say that out loud. "I was asking because I don't know what this means." She plucked her forehead. Then, repeating the gestures, she said, "Beautiful...what?"

He looked away. He's not going to answer. But he turned his face slightly towards her again. 

"Not beautiful," he said with a wry tone. "Pretty." He swirled his face. "Pretty..." He plucked his forehead. "...Man."

"Pretty Man?" she asked, and he gave a nod. "Why would he call you Pretty Man? Oh! Because Mrs. Gingery calls you Prettamin–and that kinda sounds like Pretty Man?"

"More than that," he said. "Pronounced 'Prettamin'. Spelled 'Prettyman'."

Jane let out a short guffaw. "Your name's Prettyman?"

"Yeah."

Jane laughed. "I'm sorry. What were your parents thinking?"

"Family tradition. It was my mother's maiden name. Thank God she wasn't a Hogg or a Butz."

"I shouldn't laugh. I'm named after family, too. My first name's not really Jane. It's Janellen, after my grandmothers, Jane and Ellen. When I was little everyone called me Elly. I switched to Jane when–because it didn't seem as...silly." She paused. "You must have gotten teased a lot."

"Not so much. Bullies like reactions. I didn't give them any. And it is my name after all."

Wow. I cried for days when I got called "Janellen the Watermelon." But yeah, this guy is good at not giving reactions. So what's really behind his pink panel? A good heart? Cadence thinks so. "Cadence sure has a nice canopy bed."

"Oh, yeah. That monstrosity. Found it in GiGi's old cabin."

"It was nice of you."

"What was?"

"To give it to her."

"It was GiGi's to give, not mine." His phone pinged. "Finally." He pulled out of the stall and helped his brothers load up their purchases. Val insisted on driving, and after some argument and resistance, Prett gave in. "We're in back, Miss Jane," he said. She sat behind Danny this time.

"All right, then. We'll deliver that crib first." Prett provided the directions for Val, then said to Danny, "You're going to stab yourself, Vel." Jane heard a frustrated huff and then a snap. Danny's hand came flying over the headrest, his fingers dangling a pair of sunglasses. She smiled and slid them on. Danny and Val donned theirs. Prett, who still wore his, shook his head.

Several minutes later, they entered a trailer park. As they walked to the door of their first recipient, Danny yanked on the pink braid hanging out of Jane's jacket pocket, grinning when he discovered it belonged to GiGi's Heidi hat. He stopped her and pulled it on her head, tugging the dangling braids for good measure. He gave her a thumbs up. Jane flushed with pleasure at his attention.

A middle-aged woman with missing teeth opened the trailer door. "Hi ma'am, I'm Prett. This is my brother, Val; this is my other brother, Vel; and this is Miss Jane, Vel's personal mannequin."Jane blushed with embarrassment, but the woman didn't take notice of Prett's description.

"You the ones delivering the crib?" She spoke louder than Jane deemed necessary. The smell of stale cigarettes wafted out her door.

"Yes, ma'am. We'll bring it in." Prett motioned to his brothers, and they all made several trips carrying in the purchases.

The woman kept up a running commentary the entire time. "You giving us all this? For real? I can't believe it. I just can't believe it. Of course you wouldn't have had to, if my good-for-nothing daughter hadn't gotten herself thrown in jail–oh, you can put that box right there on the floor. I'd help you carry things, but I injured my back five months ago–"

"Would you like us to put the crib together for you, ma'am?" Prett interrupted.

"Oh, that would be great! My husband's no good at that sorta thing. We have a screwdriver someplace–"

"We have our own tools."

"Oh, that's good! I keep telling Rob to get some tools to fix things around here. The bathroom sink's been leaking for months! The drip, drip, drip keeps me up all night. It's enough to make me bat-shit crazy–excuse my French–but when I tell him that–"

"Is that the baby crying?"

"Oh no! I just got him to sleep! Poor thing, he's so colicky." She disappeared down the narrow hallway while the brothers worked on assembling the crib. The woman soon returned with the infant, who she held out to Jane. "I think he's hungry. You hold him while I heat up a bottle."

"Oh, no, I'm not–" But the woman dumped the baby into Jane's arms before scurrying to the kitchen.Now what? Don't drop him. Great, now he's crying. I don't know what to do.

"Here," Prett said, getting up from the floor where he had been sorting crib parts. "Give him to me."

Seriously? He thinks he can do better? Okay. It won't be my fault the kid's wailing. Prett put the child to his shoulder, stroking his back and softly singing. Where'd he learn that? Jane watched him walk around the room. He has a nice voice.

"Oh! You're a natural!" The woman returned with a bottle. "You must have babies of your own."

Prett didn't answer. He cradled the now quieted infant in one arm and gave him the bottle. He motioned for Jane to sit on the sofa. Oh no. Prett plopped the suckling baby in her lap and returned to assembling the crib.

"My Rob never did a thing with our own babies. Never changed a diaper, not once. But I told him I'm not raising this grandbaby alone–"

Jane tuned out the endless chatter as she watched the boy's tiny hands curl and bat against the bottle. He emitted a soft powdery scent. Brandon and I could've had one of our own one day. No, he didn't like kids. That's what he said, but perhaps he was just scared, like me. She looked at Prett, screwing brackets into wood. But if this guy can handle a baby, how hard is it?

By the time they left, the assembled crib held a mattress, new sheets, and a sleeping baby. Prett had fixed the leaky faucet in the bathroom, Jane had organized the baby formula cans, and Danny and Val had scooped the snow off the steps.

The men were quiet when they returned to their truck. Val turned off the radio, and they rode in blissful silence to their next destination; the Veteran's Home. The men returned to their jovial mood once there, handing out bags of goodies to residents. Danny proved popular with the old-timers and female staff alike. Prett introduced Jane variously as "Vel's fashion consultant," "Santa's pink elf," and "Rudolf's neon stand-in."

They ate lunch at a grocery store deli where Prett picked up an order for a cooked turkey dinner with side dishes.

They stopped next at an apartment where a young, attractive Asian woman no taller than Jane greeted them. A dozen pairs of flip flops and sneakers cluttered the entrance, and they kicked off their boots to add to the mix. Three black-haired girls besieged the brothers. Their mom chattered in another language, shooing them away so the men and Jane could set their boxes of donations on a folding table. A woven green mat covered part of the carpeted floor, and a mid-sized entertainment unit stood in the far corner. The room held no other furniture. But a string of colored lights tacked to one wall surrounded a homemade banner proclaiming "Merry Christmas."

For once Prett introduced Jane without embellishments. The mom and daughters had unfamiliar names which Jane promptly forgot. The youngest grasped Jane's arm. "Can you draw princesses?" the girl whispered.

"Princesses?"

"Val draws princesses."

Jane glanced up at him. "He does?"

"I show you." The girl pulled her across the room to the wall next to the entertainment center, pointing to a colorful poster of Disney fairies, then below it, to a pencil sketch on lined paper that captured the exact likenesses.

The girls pulled Val onto the floor mat, offering him a notebook and pencil, but he crossed his arms, shaking his head. They whined with disappointment. This is something I don't see every day. Three Asian girls enticing a hillbilly to draw fairy princesses.

"The problem, girls," Prett said, "is he thinks he needs something better to draw with than a plain old pencil." Val nodded in agreement.

"But we don't have anything else," the oldest said.

"Well," Prett answered, "I found this the other day." He held up one of the boxes and scratched his cheek. "I was going to throw it all out, but maybe you'd like to see if there's anything useful inside." They ran to take it and squealed with delight as they pulled out sketch pads, markers, crayons, and colored pencils. This time Val agreed to draw. The girls pulled Jane and Danny onto the mat, too, leaving Prett to carry in the remaining boxes.

The middle girl handed Danny a sketch pad, but when he drew a stick figure, she shook her head and rolled her eyes. The youngest wanted Jane to draw, but she deferred, saying, "I'm no good at drawing. I'll bet you're better." So the girl drew flowers and butterflies.

Suddenly the oldest giggled. "It's me." She held up Val's picture. Once again he had drawn the fairy in the poster, but this time with the girl's face. Her sisters demanded their own fairy likenesses, and with a smile, Val complied. They then wanted Val to draw the same for Jane, but instead, he transformed the youngest girl's artwork. He sketched Jane's face into the sun, Prett's face into a flower, and his own image into a butterfly. When Danny touched his chest and flipped his palms up, Val drew a rabbit with flowing dark hair and long eyelashes. The girls giggled and Danny laughed with them.

Before they left, the mom handed Prett a box filled with peanut butter, cereal, and processed cheese. "For the poor," she said in broken English.

"So,"Jane said as they walked back to the truck, "this is your Christmas deliveries."

"Yep. Pretty much," Prett said.

"Funny how she gives her own donation to the poor."

"They sometimes receive food they don't like, so they give it to us. We just pass it on."

Jane thought for a moment. "The lady with the baby could use it. She didn't seem to have much."

"Good idea."

They delivered several boxes to a battered woman's shelter and some to a halfway house for recovering addicts before returning to the trailer where they'd started the day. Jane felt so inspired she insisted Prett give away the food she'd bought earlier.

They stopped next at a bungalow, carrying the Christmas dinner they'd gotten from the grocery store. The waitress from the truck stop opened the door before Prett knocked. "You sure are a sight for sore eyes," she said, three young children crowding around her. "What did you bring? Oh, a turkey? And stuffing? Christmas dinner?" Her eyes teared up, and she put a hand to her mouth before throwing her arms around Prett, almost knocking him over. "You have all been so good to me," she said, when she released him. "To us." She wiped away tears. "I'm sorry, I promised myself I wouldn't cry."

The oldest child, a boy, tugged on Prett's coat pocket. "Did you see all my presents?" he asked, pointing to the Christmas tree in the far corner.

"I have yots of peasants, too!" said his younger sister, yanking on Prett's arm, trying to pull him towards the tree. Meanwhile, the toddler stood in front of Prett, reaching her arms up in a silent bid to be held.

"I see," Prett said, complying with the latter's request, lifting the girl into his arms. She put her thumb in her mouth and lay her head on his shoulder.

"Come look!" the boy cried, pulling Prett to the tree. Jane helped find room in the fridge for the food, then sat with Denita at the dining table. Prett joined them, still holding the youngest child. In between excited interruptions from the children, Jane learned one of Denita's granddaughters was being treated at the children's hospital in Omaha, suffering from cardiomyopathy. The girl needed a heart transplant, but her condition had worsened.

"Melissa got the gifts you sent," Denita said to Prett. "I hope Genevieve doesn't mind that she had Sarah open them right away...just in case..."

"She'll understand," Prett said quietly, his arms wrapped around the sleepy toddler in his lap. By now the other two children had Danny and Val crawling around on the floor, playing horses to their riders.

"And it was so nice of Genevieve to give presents to all of us," Denita continued. "It's been so hard to find the time to go shopping. All I seem to do is work and sleep. At least I still have a job. After today, I wasn't sure I would."

"Gavin giving you a hard time?"

"I don't know what got into him, but he was mad about something all morning, and it just got worse and worse. He even yelled at a customer."

"This time of year always gets him in a foul mood. Sorry you have to put up with that."

Denita sighed. "Sometimes I wish he would fire me. I think I'd be relieved. Scared, but relieved."

I'm glad the scrooge didn't give me a job. This handing out gifts is much more fun.

Denita's attention diverted to the tree. "Mark! Did you rip the paper off that package?"

The boy yanked his hand away from a large gift. "It was an accident, Grandma!"

"Accident, my foot. You think Santa's gonna bring you presents if you're naughty?"

"Sorry, Grandma."

"Time for us to go," Prett said. "I think this one is ready for bed." Denita took the sleeping toddler, but wouldn't let Prett leave until he'd accepted several kisses on the cheek.

The sun was low in the horizon as they headed out of town. "Now where?"Jane asked.

Prett's phone interrupted his reply with a musical tune. He answered it, listened for a few seconds, then replied to the caller with irritation, "So have her daddy come get her." He listened again, rubbing his forehead. "No, no, we'll be there." He hung up and informed the others, "We have to stop at GiGi's. Blair's too scared to drive home on these roads." He looked out the window, muttering, "Nothing good will come of this."

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please help me improve my writing by pointing out problems. And if you like what you read, please click the Vote button below. And comment! I love comments! 😊  

Fun Fact: The name Prettyman Marvel comes from a real person. 

In the 1700s, David Marvel married Comfort Prettyman and produced a son, Prettyman Marvel: my great-great-great-great grandfather!

I can't imagine having "Prettyman" for a first name--but it must not have been that bad, for he named his son the same. And that Prettyman named his  son Prettyman. As did other family, resulting in no less than four "Prettyman Marvels" in history as well as a Prettyman Barr and Prettyman Marvel Dazey. 

Here's a photo of my 1st cousin 4 times removed, Prettyman Marvel (1832-1913)  and his wife, Permelia Malone (1840-1898.) And this Prettyman really did come to Nebraska!

Alas, I don't have a photo of my great-great-great-great grandfather, but here's a photo of his daughter--my great-great-great-grandmother, Comfort Marvel Barr (1799-1865.)

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