For some unknown reason, panic threatened to take hold of her. She didn't want to be separated from him. "I thought that you were going to take me back to your place."

"I was?" He paused for a moment. "Ah, yes. All of that silly stuff about me contacting you. I'm sorry, Holly, but I simply do not know what you are talking about. Someone must have been playing a hoax on you."

"You can't drop me off at the inn. You sent me a key and everything." Digging into her pockets, she finally found and presented the key to him.

"How the hell did you get that? You don't look like a stalker, but they say that they can look pretty normal at times."

"I'm not your bloody stalker," she said, raising her voice. "You sent me this key, in this envelope." Thankfully her purse was quite large, and she had thought ahead to stuff the envelope into her purse just in case she lost the map. He pulled into the Inn's driveway. Then, he took the envelope from her. Staring down at the postmarks, he licked his lips.

"Well, I'll be damned."

"See, I told you."

"I don't know how you manufactured this one, but you're one hell of a crafty woman. Here's some advice. Just save yourself a load of heartache, and as soon as your car is fixed head back to New York. I'm a very influential man; you don't want me as your enemy."

Sickness boiled inside of her gut. Breathing deeply, she fought against throwing up. Her day suddenly went from bad to worse, to horrendous. Silently, she opened the door, and stumbled out onto the gravel. Fighting back desperate tears, she took her carry on from him, and headed toward the front of the Inn. Feeling someone walking behind her, she turned around on him, with her hackles raised.

"Don't worry, you don't need to hit me over the head in order to get your message across. As you said, as soon as my car is fixed, I will waste no time in leaving this village and Vermont. I should have known better. You know that saying it seems almost to good to be true?"

"Yes," he mumbled.

"Well, that's what you were. You're a real piece of work, Nathanial Richardson. I don't know why I even listened to your little story about your uncle knowing my aunt and uncle."

"I am truly sorry that some con man took you for a ride. I do not think that my uncle ever knew any St. Christians."

"Well, he wouldn't, would he?" She was right outside of the door to the Inn. She rested her hand and then turned back to him. "My aunt and uncle weren't St. Christians."

"Enlighten me, Holly. What was their last name?"

"If you did your research properly, you should already know. But since you've decided to play the part of the village idiot, I'll tell you just to get you off of my back." She pushed the Inn door open, and was just about to step over the threshold when she answered him. "Their last name was Winterbourne."

She heard his amused laughter, and with great self-satisfaction, she slammed the door right in his face.

"Merry Christmas," she muttered, turning away, and walking toward the front desk. Besides, she still had the key tucked in her pocket, and she was bound and determined to find out just what it would unlock.