Cold Tea on a Hot Day by Curtiss Ann Matlock Read Free Book Online

and a big orange cat that had, as Mr. Holloway put it, “skeddaddled faster than a hog skatin’ on ice.”
    Tate Holloway’s voice was as it had been when Marilee had spoken to him on the phone, all deep and smoky, and he drew his words out like he purely enjoyed each one on his tongue.
    “Bub-ba,” Willie Lee said, turning concerned eyes up to her. “I was going to feed Bub-ba, but his food is all gone, and he ran away from us.”
    Understanding dawned as to what had brought WillieLee home by way of the back gate. “We’ve been going through the gate each night to feed Bubba on the back step,” Marilee explained. “Bubba is—or was —Ms. Porter’s cat. We’ve been feeding him until you came. She said you got the cat with the house.”
    Willie Lee said, “Bub-ba needs food.”
    “We’ll let Mr. Holloway take Bubba some of this chicken,” Marilee told him.
    They all sat around the big oak table in Marilee’s kitchen, eating the meal friends had brought earlier. It was very much like a party. Marilee kept Willie Lee sitting on her lap, where she could repeatedly touch him. On one side, within touching distance whether she wished it or not, sat Corrine, who seemed to grin an awfully lot for her, and on the other side, with his arm often on the back of Marilee’s chair, sat Parker. Aunt Vella hovered, a good hostess attending everyone. Marilee soaked up this time of contentment, of safety after threat.
    “I was going to call you,” Tate Holloway said, having gone over the story a second time and embellishing with how Miss Charlotte had taken him to task for coming before his scheduled Saturday arrival and how surprised he had been to see a boy on his settee.
    “I had your telephone number, but Willie Lee here—” he winked and pointed at Willie Lee with a chicken leg “—said he would show me the way over. I sure wondered where he was goin’ when he led me into those cedar trees, but by golly, there was the gate right in the midst of those ramblin’ roses, just like he said.”
    Marilee, putting warm chicken meat in her mouth withher fingers, watched the man and her son grin at each other. Tate Holloway had a charming grin.
    “I knew the way. I was not lost,” Willie Lee said. Then he looked at Marilee, squinting with one eye behind his thick glasses. “Well, oncet I was lost, but Mun-ro led me home.”
    Taking a roll from his and Marilee’s plate, he slipped from her lap and went to feed it to the dog lying on the spiral rug in front of the sink, as was the right of a dog who had protected her son.
    Marilee, approving of how gently the dog ate from her son’s hand, felt a sinking feeling. “Honey, Munro may belong to someone. He has a collar.”
    Willie Lee said, “No…he was look-ing for me, to come live here. I told God I want-ed him. Re-mem-ber?”
    Marilee glanced at Parker.
    “I don’t think I’ve seen that dog before,” Parker said. “But not everybody ‘round here brings me their pets. Most, but not everyone. And he doesn’t have any tags…may not have had a rabies shot,” he added as caution.
    Everyone looked at the dog, who blinked his kind eyes.
    Tate Holloway said, “You just can’t separate a boy and a dog, oncet they’ve chosen each other,” and winked at Willie Lee. “Plain secret of life is a good dog.”
    Now Marilee knew where Willie Lee had picked up saying “oncet.”
    “How come you to name him Munro, Willie Lee?” Aunt Vella asked.
    “That is his name.”
    At this good sense, all of them chuckled, except Corrine, who had begun to help Aunt Vella clear the table and who informed them, “It says Munro on his collar.”
    When they all looked at her, she added, “It’s printed in white. M-U-N-R-O.”
    Parker took a look, pulling the collar out of the dog’s hair. “Yep. Munro.” He petted the dog.
    “Who told you his name?” Marilee asked.
    “Mun-ro told me,” Willie Lee said practically, stroking the dog.
    “Did he tell you if he has had his