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be here much right now. I promise, I’m nice.”
    She didn’t look so sure as she shrank back farther.
    “Okay, I get the hint. I don’t want to terrify you. But I’ll be around if you want to come say hi.”
    He glanced down at the cell phone still in his hand and dialed. Emily answered on the first ring. “Tell me this means you have a book to share with me,” she said.
    He winced. “Um, no, that’s not it. I actually hoped you could clear your calendar today to help a fellow human—and maybe a cat—in need.”
    “What are you up to, McIntyre? Did you say cat?” Her voice sounded suspicious, but it showed the true depth of their friendship that she didn’t tell him “hell no” immediately. In December, nobody had a full day to spare, and Emily was no different than anyone else in that regard.
    “I’ll explain what I can when you get here. Please, Em, and tonight I’ll send you the book I’ve been writing, and it will clear a lot of it up, I think. Although the book isn’t quite done yet.” With that sentence, his stomach rolled over on itself.
    Passing that book over to someone else to read felt like opening up his chest to the vultures. He’d never put more of his own soul into a book than he had this one, and as he looked around Tommy’s space, he could feel himself sinking deeper and deeper into this chasm, unsure how he would ever get back out. Or if he even wanted to...
    After he hung up with Emily, he was trying to find the light switches for the store when someone knocked on the door. He turned to see a tiny, grandmotherly type peering through the large-paned windows.
    He grabbed the key off the counter and went to the door to open the deadbolt.
    She squinted at him suspiciously. “You’re not Tommy.”
    “No, ma’am. My name’s Mac. I’m manning the store for Tommy today. I’m running a little behind. Is there something I can help you with?”
    She raised an imperious eyebrow at him, obviously not believing his story. “Tommy doesn’t like anyone to mess with his system. He’s very particular. Who are you, and what have you done with him?” She whipped out her phone and her fingers hovered over the buttons in a very threatening pose.
    “It sounds like you know Tommy well. His brother is in the hospital, so I’m trying to help out. That’s all, I promise.”
    Her eyes widened. “Ryder’s sick? What’s wrong with the boy? Is he going to be okay?”
    He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t know what his condition is. I don’t know what happened. I just want to help.”
    She forced her way into the store and leaned more heavily on her cane as she glanced around. He dragged a chair over to her. “Here, have a seat. You can help fill in what I don’t know. You know the brothers well?”
    She gave him another all too-seeing, searching look.
    But with her curly gray hair and dimples that had been imbedded in her cheeks after years of smiling, it was hard to take her too seriously. If Mrs. Claus came to visit Denver, she would look like this woman.
    “Who exactly did you say you were?”
    He could tell with this feisty one, he would to have to pull out the big guns. “People call me Mac, but my real name is Robert McIntyre. You might have heard of me.” He had been there long enough to realize that several of his books occupied the bookshelves in the workshop side of the large open room. He walked over, grabbed a couple of them, and brought them to her. “I write books.” He flipped the one over that still had the dust jacket on it and pointed to the picture. “That was a few years ago, but I think the likeness is still pretty much the same. Just pretend you don’t see the additional wrinkles in the real life version.”
    Her mouth dropped open, and she pointed to the other. “I’ve read that one. Not your best work.”
    He gave a dry chuckle. “Aw, a critic. In my defense, it was only the third book I ever wrote.”
    She harrumphed at him. “So how does