Page 3 of The Christmas Accomplice

“Drive a modified golf cart?” He grinned, and Welton noticed how it made the corners of his deep set and warm brown eyes crinkle. “Pretty sure I can handle it. Unless you’d prefer to wait for one of them to return?”

“No, no. I would like to get to the cabin and unpack. I’d appreciate a ride. Thank you.”

He watched the man stride off to where a number of the carts were parked. Moments later, he pulled up in front of Welton and hopped out to load his bags in the back. Welton climbed inside and became instantly aware of the man’s scent. It was much better than his seat mate on the shuttle: musky and earthy with a wisp of woodsmoke. Welton’s heart pounded and his belly tightened. He was sensitive to smell, and this man smelled like sex and comfort.

“Where to?”

“I’d like to go to my cabin and get settled a bit, if that’s okay.”

He grinned, and it was sexy and kind of sweet and not at all condescending, and Welton thought this cart ride might simultaneously be the best and agonizingly longest few minutes of his entire life. “I don’t know which cabin you’re in.”

“Oh!” Welton’s face could have melted. He arched up off the seat to check his pants pockets for the folder with the key. When he realized what a sexual position he’d assumed, he blushed even more and dropped his butt back into the cushion. “I don’t recall the number. I have the folder and keys here somewhere.”

His entire head may as well have been the sun.

“If I may?” The man slowly, carefully extended a hand toward him as if Welton were a strange dog that might bite. He plucked the long, narrow paper folder the clerk had given him from an outer coat pocket and checked what had been written on the front. “Spruce group, cabin five.”

Welton looked at him for a moment as he accepted the folder back. “Yes, that sounds right.”

The man put the cart in motion, and Welton stared out his side of the soft plastic fastened around the seats to keep out the cold.

“First time visiting Snowcapped?”

“Yes. First time.”

“Do you like to ski?”

“Does it look like I ski?” Welton heard the sharp edge in his tone and made a face. “I’m sorry. It was an early morning and a long flight.”

“No worries,” the man said. “You’re in good shape. You’d do great at skiing. Where’d you come in from?”

“Detroit.”

“Motor City.”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“You work in automotive?”

“In a roundabout way. I perform data analysis on one of the manufacturer websites.”

“Tracking site visits and where people go on the site and what they click?”

Welton glanced at the man. “That’s right.”

“My sister does something similar.” He smiled, and Welton wondered if his overbite would make a difference in the way he kissed. “She said it’s like spying, but different.”

“I don’t know if I’d say it like that, but I understand her point. It’s an expanding and popular field these days.”

“That’s what I hear.” He was quiet for a short time, then asked, “Do you like being out in the snow very much at all, or are you more of a fireside type?”

“I’m sure people I know would say I’m a fireside type.”

“What about you?” He gave Welton a very direct and lingering look before turning back to the road. “What would you say you are?”

“Well, normally I would sit by the fire and read or maybe…” He caught himself before he could mention board and strategy games, and instead said, “Talk about current events and popular culture.”

Popular culture? What does that mean? You know absolutely nothing about popular culture.