Free Maid to Match by Deeanne Gist

firm and unyielding. “What’s the matter?”
    “I don’t like being dragged along like so much baggage.”
    He quirked a brow, a teasing spark in his eyes. “At home we toss our women over a shoulder.”
    And that was that, though he did slow his pace a bit. Still, his legs were long and his strides deep.
    Heat filled her cheeks. The moment he let go, she would leave him partnerless in the middle of the floor. She savored the moment.
    But when they reached the dancers, he never let go. Simply swung her around and swept her up into his arms. The song was a favorite, and the tables had emptied as everyone not only joined the dancing, but sang along with improvised words to “Mrs. Murphy’s Chowder.”
    “When Mrs. Winter dished the chowder out,
she fainted on the spot;
    She found a pair of overalls at the bottom
of the pot.
    Mr. Sterling, he got ripping mad, his eyes
were bulging out,
    He jumped on the piano and loudly he did
shout . . .”
    Mack whisked her across the floor, his steps sure, his lead strong.
    “Who threw the overalls in Mistress Vandy’s
chowder?
    No-body spoke, so he shouted all the
louder.
    It’s an Irish trick that’s true, but I can
lick the Mick that threw,
    The o-ver-alls innnnnn Mistress Vandy’s
chowder!”
    Mack quickly caught on to the lyric substitutions and sang in harmony, of all things. She refused to look at him. Refused to smile. Refused to sing along.
    He didn’t miss a beat. Round and round they went through every single verse and two more choruses. When the song finally ended, he retained his hold. The other dancers emptied the floor, stranding her with him.
    “What’s the matter?” he asked.
    “Let me go.”
    “You mad about me pulling you out here by the hand?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well then, next time I’ll sling you across my shoulder. Bet you won’t object to being escorted by the hand after that.” The corner of his mouth twitched with a hint of amusement.
    “I wouldn’t try it if I were you.”
    He shook his head. “You’re so serious all the time.”
    She released a huff of air. “This from the man who uses his fists at the slightest provocation yet cowers in the corner until the last dance.”
    The smile he’d been withholding fully formed. Straight white teeth. Two deep dimples. Crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “You’ve been watching me.”
    “I certainly have not.”
    “Then how did you know I hadn’t danced with anyone yet?”
    She could think of no plausible reply.
    His smile deepened. “This was the last dance?”
    “ ‘Mrs. Murphy’s Chowder’ is always the last dance.”
    “But it’s so early.”
    “Parlor games are next.”
    “Ah.”
    They still stood on the dance floor. Alone. He had one hand on her back, the other beneath her hand, as if they were waiting for the next song to begin. Except there was no next song.
    She jumped back, breaking contact. “I have to . . . I need to . . .”
    Whirling around, she rushed to the women placing chairs in a large circle while the men stored the tables. It wasn’t until all was arranged that she realized she’d chattered without ceasing during the task, laughing too often and too loud. Picking a seat, she pressed her hands onto her lap. Hopefully no one had noticed.
    Dixie dropped down beside her. “What has you in such a dither all of a sudden?”
    Tillie slid her eyes closed. “I’m not in a dither.”
    The older set with their families in tow headed out, leaving the parlor games to the twenty unmarried members of the house staff who had the night off.
    Mack sat down directly across from her. His eyes connected with hers. Fifteen feet of nothingness separated them.
    He released the top two buttons of his white shirt, then stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. No vest. No neckerchief. No collar.
    Allan clapped his hands together. “We have a new staff member with us for the first time. So, in keeping with tradition, he’ll participate in the first game of the