Betina Krahn by The Mermaid Page B

my methods.”
    Cornered by her logic and his own pride, he grabbed the mallets from her and scooted awkwardly across the dock to take her place. She moved back and leaned against the post, arms crossed. It took an effort to keep her smile from turning into a taunting grin.
    He began to pound the tin with jerky, self-conscious motions.
    “That was only four,” she interrupted.
    “It most certainly was not.” He looked up with his nostrils flaring. “It was five and then one, just as you did it.”
    “It was four,” she insisted. “Perhaps you’d better count aloud.”
    “I will not.” He rapped out another set, a bit louder and steadier this time, but still lacking discernible rhythm. She could see in his face that he was counting mentally, but his third attempt was not much better.
    “Goodness, you really don’t have much of a sense of rhythm, do you? Perhaps I should do it, after all.”
    “I am perfectly capable,” he insisted, and applied the mallets to the tin with greater determination.
    Eventually, he settled into a creditable rhythm. His face seemed to soften and his grip on the mallets became freer and more natural. He no longer held himself so rigidly, and his shoulders began to flex slightly with each lower tone. The familiar rhythm took on a whole new sound to her.
    Her gaze was drawn to his profile: his long, straight nose, his prominent cheekbones, his high forehead and the lock of hair that hung over it. Looking away, she searched the cove for a glimpse of a dorsal fin. But again and again she came back to his hands, gripping those mallets … large hands, long, powerful fingers, and square, neatly trimmed nails. She recalled them tracing the edges of the plates and goblets at supper … gentle, authoritative…
    Nana was right. She hadn’t examined many gentlemen at close range. No doubt that accounted for this strange urge to stare at him, to study his movements and the nuances of his speech and expressions. It occurred to her that she knew more about dolphin males than human ones. And here was a prime specimen, practically at her fingertips…
    “There, I’ve repeated your procedure, Miss Ashton.” He paused, his eyes glowing in the dimness. “Still no dolphins.”
    “As I said, Professor, it may take them a while to get here.” Her voice sounded oddly constricted to her own ears.
    “And how will you know they’re here?”
    She pulled her gaze from him and looked down at the moonlit water at their feet. “They usually come to the dock and stick their heads up out of the water. If I’m not here, they sometimes swim around in the cove and leap out of the water to let me know they’ve arrived.”
    “They
leap
. Out of the water. To get your attention.”
    “They do.”
    He eyed her skeptically. “Because they ‘like’ you.”
    “I can’t think of any other reason they would return each summer. Occasionally I give them a treat, but I’m not much of a soft touch when it comes to food. They eat prodigiously … it would be far too expensive.”
    “You honestly believe these creatures capable of ‘liking’ someone? Of the higher feelings of regard and affection?”
    “I certainly do.” Her voice came soft and earnest. “We have not the slightest qualm about crediting land mammals with such attributes. For example, we say dogs ‘like’ to be petted, because they seek it out. And we insist that they
love
a good game of fetch or a juicy bone, since they wag tails and leap for joy, and even appear to smile at us at times. Then why is it so difficult to believe that dolphins, who possess brains much larger than those of dogs—brains similar in size and structure to our own—may share at least those same fundamental feelings and attributes?”
    He expelled a breath tinged with disgust and looked out at the sea. “Very well, just what sorts of things do dolphins ‘love’?”
    “They love to be with each other, they’re quite social beings. They love to investigate things.