A Christmas Baby For The Cowboy. Deb Kastner

      He couldn’t think of a way to fix the problem without making it worse. He obviously couldn’t use his gunked-up shirtsleeves, and he didn’t carry a handkerchief.

      “Hold on a second,” she said, jaunting off to the bathroom just inside the stockroom. She returned a moment later with a couple of wet paper towels and two dry ones, as well.

      “Here. Let me.” She leaned on tiptoe to wipe his forehead clean and then handed him the dry paper towels to finish mopping up.

      “Dirty work, I guess,” she teased.

      “No worse than rodeo. Anyway, I’m enjoying doing something different for a change. Working with my hands is fulfilling. It’s a new experience for me to build something from nothing but raw materials. And I think I’m getting the hang of it. Give me a day or two and I’ll be a regular Mr. Fix It.”