Summer Mahogany Read Free Page B

laugh. "Handliners—fishermen—almost hate the dogfish because when the haddock should be taken, along comes the dogfish. Tourists start arriving at almost the same time. There are several terms that are used for seasonal visitors."
    But Gina didn't mention "summer mahogany." That was special, reserved for Rhyder.
    "Incredible!" Pete had breathed, wiping the perspiration from his brow and flipping back a wayward lock of sandy hair.
    "Are you getting a lesson in Maine-iac expressions, Pete?"
    With a startled, quarter-turn spin, Gina had faced Rhyder. Her heart had skipped a beat at the sight of him, his ebony hair ruffled and tangled by the salty ocean breeze. A cream-colored knit shirt had loosely molded his broad shoulders and leanly muscled chest.
    Agilely he had swung from the glistening deck. His blue gaze had skimmed over her, making her aware of the way she was staring. She had looked quickly away as Pete replied, "I certainly am."
    A crony of her grandfather's had walked by at that moment, his alert gaze sweeping the trio before he nodded to Gina. "How's Nate?" he inquired, referring to her grandfather.
    "Nicely, thank you." She slipped her fingers into the slanted pockets of her jeans. "They crawlin' good?"
    "Daow!" he had answered emphatically.
    "Gramps changed water in his traps today, too," Gina had agreed, as the man continued on his way.
    "Would you mind translating that conversation?" Pete had frowned bewilderedly.
    A sideways glance had caught Rhyder's amused and interested look. Gina obligingly launched into an explanation of what had been said, aware that she was the sole object of Rhyder's attention and determined to acquit herself intelligently.
    "Clyde Simms asked how my grandfather was and I told him he was doing nicely as opposed to poorly—or in poor health. Then I asked him if the lobster were crawling—or moving along the ocean floor and with luck into the lobster traps. His reply was 'daow'—a negative just about as definite as you can get." Gina had smiled broadly. "He would have told you that whether it was true or not."
    "What did you mean about changing water in the traps?" Pete had persisted, a curious half smile beginning to curve his thin mouth.
    "When a lobsterman goes out to haul and comes up with empty traps that he has to rebait and reset, it's called changing water in the pots. In other words, an unproductive task, since he didn't catch anything."
    "I don't think I've ever heard such picturesque speech patterns," Pete had declared, addressing the comment to Rhyder.
    "Mostly they come from nautical terms or from the logging days," Gina had acknowledged.
    "Yes, but they're still in use. Of course, Maine is pretty isolated up here in the corner all by itself, practically," he had conceded. Rhyder didn't attempt to contribute to the conversation, but stood to one side, listening and watching Gina.
    "It may seem as if we're isolated, but it's far from the truth. Look at all the seasonal visitors we get from all parts of the country and the world," Gina had argued. "And Mainers have always been known for their association with the sea, whether it was fishing commercially or shipping. The history of the people is very cosmopolitan. The old idioms linger because they indicate an individuality. Also—" a bright twinkle had entered her eyes "—it makes us remembered. People come from away, hear the way we talk, and go back to tell all their friends what quaint things we said. Everyone knows word of mouth is the best advertisement. What better way to encourage more tourists to come to our resorts?"
    Rhyder had laughed, joined almost immediately by Pete, then Gina. It had been a magic moment, knowing she had made him laugh with her and not at her.
    "Brilliantly spoken." Rhyder had smiled at her. "Surely you didn't think I was an empty-headed creature, did you?" Gina had tipped her head provocatively to one side.
    "No, I didn't think that." But he had seemed to withdraw, his smile becoming