Jane stood in the truck stop vestibule facing the 24-hour café, the tantalizing smell of bacon and coffee wafting out to mock her hunger. Her designer suit still rocked, though. No one would ever mistake her for a "lot lizard" wearing this.

 The navy wool jacket and pencil skirt had never failed her. They had even emerged wrinkle-free from days spent in a grocery bag. The same couldn't be said of her silk blouse, but a sprinkling of water and a quick blow under the restroom's hand dryer had improved its appearance. Jane ignored her toes, aching in protest at being squeezed so soon after last night's escape from frostbite. The Prada pumps had always pinched, but so what? They perfectly matched the suit. No regrets. Image over irritation. Besides, the heels raised her to a grand five feet two inches. 

Jane touched her unwashed hair, pulled tight into a sleek bun. Ready. She pressed her leather binder and wool coat to her chest and approached the hostess standing behind the restaurant podium. "May I speak to the manager, please?"

The blonde expressed a moment of surprise. "Oh. Okay." She turned and addressed a balding man in his fifties standing behind a glass display counter several feet behind her. "Mr. Turney? This girl wants to talk to you."

As Mr. Turney came out from behind the counter, Jane forced herself to look at him and not at the delectable pastries behind the glass. He looked familiar to Jane, though she couldn't quite place him. She stuck out her hand when he drew near.

"I'm Jane Johnson. I'd like to apply for a job."

"I haven't advertised one." Mr. Turney's eyes swept over her, then narrowed. "Didn't you solicit me last night?"

Now she remembered. Cadillac Escalade guy. She flushed at her embarrassing ill-fated attempt at begging the night before. His response had been unequivocal. Not a charity. The truckers carry cash.

"Um—no." Jane tightened her grip on her binder. "I, uh, I have experience as a waitress. If I could just work for a meal, I'd be grateful. I'd do anything." No, clarify that. "Busboy, kitchen prep, dishwasher, bookkeeping. I have a résumé—"

"Mornin' Gavin," a man said behind her.

Mr. Turney scowled at the speaker and two other men as they passed by. Their dirty coveralls and scraggy hair suggested homelessness, certainly in comparison to Jane's tailored threads. Yet they had money for breakfast. She did not.

They passed without further comment, the hostess hurrying after them with menus. Mr. Turney addressed Jane again. "Look, lady, I have enough employees. Don't need you."

"But can I work for a meal? I'll wash dishes or—"

"I'm not a charity."

"It's not charity if I work for it. Please. I haven't eaten in two days." 

Mr. Turney shook his head and walked away. Jane followed. When he went behind the display counter, Jane tracked with him along the front. They both stopped near the cash register. Jane's eyes lingered on a cake stand piled with caramel pecan rolls. She placed her hand on the counter next to them, her body shivering with cold, hunger and stress. "Please, I'll even clean toilets."

"How many ways do I have to say 'no' to you? Leave before I call the cops."

Underneath the glass dome, the caramel rolls beckoned. Jane could lift the cover, snatch one, and run. Her stomach rumbled in encouragement.

"Like I said last night," Mr. Turney said, yanking the temptation away from her, "the truckers carry cash."

Jane fled to the vestibule, tears pooling her eyes. This is Nebraska. Whatever happened to nice? And Christmas spirit? 

A year ago she never imagined being so wretched. 

A year ago she expected an engagement ring. 

A year ago she came this close to becoming a surgeon's wife. 

Stop. Just stop. Forget it. Think about something else.  

She yanked on her coat. Yeah, like what? My wonderful life? I could walk into that field and no one would notice. I could freeze in the snow and no one would care.

"Ma'am?"

Startled, Jane turned to see the shaggy man who'd greeted Mr. Turney.

He stepped back, his eyes wide. Then he touched his forehead in a sort of salute. "Hi. I'm Prett." When Jane didn't respond in kind, he added, "I heared ye' lookin' fer a job."

"As a waitress," she replied in a steely tone, assessing his shoulder-length hair, stubbly beard, and stained navy blue overalls. With that accent, she had no doubt he was a hillbilly trucker. She pressed her back against the door and it cracked open. A blast of snowy air prompted her to let it shut.

"Well," Prett said, scratching his beard, "I ain't fixin' to hire me no waitress." 

Jane pressed against the door again. 

Prett glanced back to the café. "Or the kind ah job Gavin so rudely intimated. We's makin' deliveries today and kin use an extry peer ah hands, is all." 

A teenage boy yanked open the door behind Jane. She stumbled backwards. Prett reached for her elbow, but she regained her footing before he touched her.

"We kin discuss it over brachfast, iffen ye' like," he said after the boy had brushed past. Jane wrinkled her brows, but Prett looked at her with sincerity. "I'm a'buyin'." He walked back to the café. 

Food. Jane's feet decided before her mind did. She trailed behind him, holding her head high as she walked past a glaring Mr. Turney.

Prett led her to a booth, where his equally shaggy companions sat. He slid into the seat opposite them and scooted close to the window. Avoiding eye contact with the men, Jane laid her binder on the vinyl seat, sliding it over just enough to provide room for herself. 

"This here is mah brother, Val." Prett indicated the man with the wavy dark hair across from her. 

Jane now took a good look at him. Her breath caught. Drop-dead gorgeous. Long eyelashes framed merry blue eyes. Not even his mangy beard hid the dimples in his wide smile as he saluted her. 

"And this is mah other brother, Val," Prett said.

Did I mishear? I thought this one was Val. She tore her eyes away from Gorgeous Val to look at the man next to him. He saluted her, too. He wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but did have chiseled, handsome features with a sly smile. With his flowing strawberry blonde hair and full beard, he looked like a Viking.

The men appeared to be in their thirties, not much older than herself. Other than their choice of clothes and grooming, they had no brotherly resemblance.

"Vals, this is..." Prett 's upturned hand hovered near her.

 "Oh. Jane." She opened her mouth to ask about their own names, but they stared at her with such abject curiosity and awe that she faltered. Her face hot, she instead focused her eyes at her hands, gripped together in her lap.

"...Miss Jane," Prett finished. "I give 'er an invite fer brachfast." He picked up the menu. Gorgeous Val stopped staring. He raised his right hand as he turned to Prett, forming his fingers into a claw shape before moving them in rapid succession, ending again with the claw.

He's deaf.

Viking Val watched his brother's gestures. Then he circled his finger around his face and put his hand out with middle fingers closed and thumb and pinky up. 

That Val's deaf too? Is that the sign for "love"? I knew this once.

Prett studied the menu as if he hadn't noticed.  

Gorgeous Val made more signs, forming both hands into gun shapes. Viking Val did similarly before touching the tips of his thumb and index finger and cupping his right hand to his chin. 

Prett turned the page of the menu, ignoring them. 

Gorgeous Val leaned towards Prett and repeated his gestures, adding what Viking Val had signed. 

Prett just flipped to the menu's back page. 

Gorgeous Val swirled his fingers in front of his own face before making a plucking motion at his forehead. He did this twice, smirking. 

That first sign is "beautiful". I remember that much.

Prett sighed. "Val's glad I'm a'buyin', 'cause petite gals like yerself kin eat more'n a grizzly in a salmon run." Gorgeous Val laughed.

That's not what he said. Guns and how I look. I think.

With a mischievous smile at Jane, Gorgeous Val repeated his previous gestures before stroking his chin and pointing at her.

Beautiful. Or I have something on my face. Oh, God! She wiped her chin to remove any offending particles.

"Morning, guys." A middle-aged waitress held a carafe. "Ready for coffee?"

"Mornin', Miss Denita," Prett said as the men upturned their mugs. "How's Sarah?"

The waitress's face fell. "Not good. Still no match and they think maybe now she's too sick, anyway."

"I'm so sorry," Prett said. The Vals circled their chests with their fists and pressed their hands in prayer. "We's prayin' fer 'er."

"Thank you." The waitress took a deep breath. "And tell Genevieve 'thank you,' too."

"Shorely will."

She smiled wanly. "Anything to drink besides coffee?"

"No, ma'am. Unless...Miss Jane here maht. She's our elf on loan from the North Pole."

What?! Jane released a spoon she was using to surreptitiously examine her face for smeared lipstick.

"It's Santa's new foreign ex-change program," Prett added. "He sends me Miss Jane, I send 'im Val." Other than an almost imperceptible glance at Gorgeous Val, Prett's expression didn't change.

"Oh." The waitress set the carafe on the table and smiled at Jane. "Welcome."

"Uh, thanks," Jane said. 

Gorgeous Val pointed at Prett, his own chin, then his chest. He repeated the finger swirl and forehead plucking signs. 

Now he's calling Prett "beautiful". Beautiful...something.

Prett ignored him.

"Anything besides coffee?" the waitress asked Jane.

"Orange juice, please."

"And are you all ready to order or do you need a few minutes?"

"I'm havin' my usual." Prett handed her his menu. "Vals?" His brothers also handed over their menus. "Looks laike the usual fer 'em, too. And for Miss Jane."

The usual? Do I want that? I guess so. He's buying. Jane gave a nod to the waitress. I hope it's not grits.

"Oh, and," Prett said, scratching his stubbly cheek, "brin' Miss Jane one ah them car-mel pecan rolls."

Jane's mouth dropped open.

He gave her the slight glance he'd given his brother. "Brin' it first."

"Sure thing." The waitress stepped away.

Gorgeous Val stroked his chin while Viking Val swiped his right index finger against his left palm. Prett ignored them. "Do ye' have a rezzimae, Miss Jane?"

"What? Oh." He'd mentioned a job. Deliveries or something. Jane opened her binder, weighing the wisdom of handing over her contact information. However, most of it was invalid now anyway. Prett perused her résumé before passing it to his brothers.

The waitress delivered the pecan roll and Jane resisted stuffing the entire thing in her mouth. She pulled off a small piece. Before she could eat it, however, Prett asked, "Yer from New Jersey?"

"Yes."

"Long ways from home."

"I'm moving to Texas."

"Family thar?"

"No, I heard there were jobs."

"More jobs in North Dakoty." Prett scrutinized her. "But ye' dun look right suited fer frackin'." 

The Vals chuckled. Jane's face burned.

Prett furrowed his brow. Then his eyes widened. He made a gesture towards his mouth in response to his brothers. "I 'pologize fer the double entendre, Miss Jane. It were unintentional. Sometimes mah jaw moves before mah brain's in gear. I was jest meanin' ye' dun look like ye' kin handle heavy machinery."

Jane relaxed her shoulders. "I do usually work behind a desk." Viking Val handed her résumé back to Prett. "Accounting, mostly. Human resources. Though I've also worked as a waitress. In high school, and...more recently."

Prett folded her résumé, stuffing it in his front pocket. "I seen that. Ye' quit? Git farred?"

"Laid off. The restaurant closed. Fourth time in the past five years that's happened to me. Every time I land a job, the place goes out of business."

"Times is tough."

"I think I'm just a bad luck charm."

Prett shrugged. "Mebby ye' is, mebby ye' idn't– Val!" He snapped at his dark-haired brother just as Jane saw the latter yank his hand from her caramel roll. "Keep yer cotton-pickin' hands to yerself." 

Gorgeous Val leaned back and raised his eyebrows, flipping both hands into an upturned position. 

"If yer a'wantin' me to buy ye' one too, jest say so." 

Gorgeous Val grinned. He wacked his hand on the brother sitting next to him before pointing at Prett. Viking Val grinned and nodded. 

"Miss Denita," Prett said as the waitress arrived with Jane's orange juice, "we'll be a'needin some ah them car-mel rolls fer the rest ah us, too."

As the waitress left, Prett said to Jane, "Better eat now afore ye' lose it to the incorrigible one."

Jane complied. The bread seemed to melt in her mouth, the sticky sweetness transporting her back to her childhood. She devoured it in record time. Best one ever. She licked the caramel off her fingers before taking a long drink of orange juice. 

"Ye' ever been an elf, Miss Jane?"

She hadn't finished swallowing, and to avoid spewing her mouthful of juice at Gorgeous Val, she choked it down fast. Citrus stung her nostrils as she suppressed a cough. She grabbed her napkin. "No, can't say I have," she said in a hoarse voice.

"Any ah'jections to wearin' green?"

"No."

"I kin see ye' dun mind wearin' pointy shoes. Any compunctions 'bout pointy hats?"

She squared her shoulders. "I have no objections at all to being an elf. Does that make you Santa?"

 The Vals snickered, but Prett's mouth merely twitched. He picked up his mug, blew on his coffee, and took a sip.

"Well," Prett said, setting down his cup, "we's doin' Christmas deliveries today. Iffen ye' want to hep, I'll give ye' a far wage."

"Okay."

"Maht take all day. We's a'startin' with five stops, but they is always additions, side jobs, and..." he glanced at her, "the 'ccasional rabbit trail." Viking Val made several signs at this, which Prett ignored.

"I'm available all day."

"Yer hiard, than."

"As an elf?"

Prett nodded. "And I were jest pullin' yer leg 'bout the costume. Ain't requared."

"That's a relief."

"It be a shame. Val here cuts a right dashin' figger in green." Gorgeous Val chuckled, shaking his head. He pointed at Prett, swirled his hand in front of his face and plucked his forehead.

Beautiful...what? An insult?

 The waitress brought the caramel rolls. The Vals took great bites out of theirs, but Prett set his aside. Gorgeous Val unzipped his coveralls and wriggled his arms out, leaving it bunched around his waist. He wore an emerald and black plaid flannel shirt over a dark emerald turtleneck.

Yeah. He does cut a dashing figure in green.

Viking Val followed suit, revealing a red plaid flannel shirt. He was much broader than his darker-haired brother. Prett's overalls already allowed his arms full range of movement. His thin frame under a gray thermal turtleneck showed he didn't share his brothers' apparent love of body building.

Jane shivered in her coat, but her face heated at the Vals' physiques. She pinched her thigh. Good ole' boys. Not my type.

Prett cleared his throat. "Kin ye' lift fifty pounds, Miss Jane?"

"I don't know."

Gorgeous Val signed.

"Val says that's likely half yer weight," Prett said.

Val shook his head, grinning.

"It probably is," Jane replied.

Viking Val signed again. 

"Val wants to know if yer afeared ah haights."

"Heights? No."

"And kin ye' pint?"

"Paint?"

"Walls. Have ye' ever clombed a ladder?"

"What? Oh. Climbed. Yeah, why?"

Gorgeous Val shook his hand at his brothers before starting a flurry of signs. 

Prett didn't so much interpret as argue back. "No, I ain't askin' iffen she kin cook or clean, I ain't lookin' fer no housemaid. Ye' ain't needin' no housemaid, neither. Ye' kin clean up yer own gom. I ain't hirin' ye' no maid. Iffen yer a'wantin' a maid, ye' kin pay fer one yerself."

Gorgeous Val let out two quiet chuckles and gave his brother a wave of the hand.

"I reckon not." Prett turned to Jane. "We's convertin' an old hotel into a baid-and-brachfast. We's now ready fer pintin' but these here fellers think they is too proud fer it. What about ye'?" He stopped talking and looked at Jane with expectation.

Huh? "Are you asking if I'm too proud to paint?"

"Is ye'?"

"I suppose not. I've done it before." 

Gorgeous Val pointed at her before bringing his upturned hand towards his midriff.

"Dun be gettin' ahead ah yerself, Val." To Jane, Prett said, "It's a lotta rooms. Take a copple weeks to pint 'em all. It'll delay ye' movin' to Taxas."

Is he asking me to paint a bed-and-breakfast? "Well, I don't need to move to Texas yet. I don't have a job lined up."

"It dun pay mech. Jest the minimum wage. No paid holidays. None ah them four-ah-one-kays. No dental plan."

"That's okay. I'll take whatever."

"Ye' shore do drive up yer bargains. Okay, I reckon yer hiard fer that too, than. And no, Val," he said to his dark-haired brother who had resumed signing, "I ain't gonna pay 'er to warsh yer clothes." 

Gorgeous Val laughed, but finished signing.

"Ye' stayin' someplace in town?" Prett asked Jane.

"Um, yeah." Liar.

"Motel?"

"Yeah." Pants on fire.

Prett drummed his fingers on the table as if thinking. Viking Val signed something, and Prett gave a short nod. "Too bad. Motel wud eat up yer piddly wages."

Jane twisted the napkin in her lap. Her eyes stung. "Actually...I've been living in my car the past couple days." She had a sudden need to explain. "I had money when I started out, but my car broke down outside Des Moines and I had to sell a bunch of stuff to pay for a new transmission. But the mechanic was nice and didn't charge for his labor, so I still had a few hundred dollars when I got to Omaha, but..." 

She took a deep breath. "I lost the money there. It must have fallen out of my pocket or something. I couldn't find it anywhere. So I drove here, hoping...but my car's almost out of gas. I can't go anywhere. I don't have any money." She wiped her eyes and nose with the napkin.

"Well, kin't have ye' livin' in yer car." Prett paused. "Guess we kin put ye' up at the hotel. We have the baids. So...room 'n bard, and minimum wage fer pintin'. Hunnerd dollars fer playin' elf." He stuck out his hand. "Deal?"

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 I love comments. 😊

Fun Fact: In the winter of 2012 I read a "What ever happened to" article about the actors from the 80s TV show, "Newhart". I loved that show, especially the character played by William Sanderson:

"Hi. My name is Larry. This is my brother Darryl and this is my other brother, Darryl." 

https://youtu.be/5yyB06HvAjI

Larry says the most outlandish things (that turn out to be true) while his brothers Darryl don't speak. Watching old episodes on YouTube got me daydreaming about my own (less farcical) version of the three backwoods brothers. 

Why would two brothers not speak? How would they communicate? What's their backstory? And of course, all my stories must have a romance or two (or three. 😁) 

"The Marvels of Prairie Creek" is the result of all my daydreaming. Hope you enjoy!

Be sure to vote and comment! ⤵