opened her umbrella and dashed out to her battered jeep Eagle, splashing through mud puddles all the way. With a sigh of relief she slid into her front seat and closed the door on the cold rain.
If you wanted to live in this part of Oregon, you had to have a rugged four-wheel drive. At least eight months out of the year the roads, especially the back ones, were a nightmare. They were covered with three feet of snow or ice, or were mired in mud, and often impassable. And for another two months, during the tail end of fall and the tail end of winter, it rained so much it was like an Asian monsoon. Summer was brief but sweet. The extreme weather was the only thing that Ann wasn’t crazy about.
But her husband loved everything about Oregon. Snow or endless rain didn’t disturb him. He was just happy to be living out in the woods. Her mountain man.
When she got to the newspaper, Zeke was busy at his computer. Try as she might, she rarely beat him in.
“Don’t tell me you spent the night here?” She clucked as she shook out her umbrella, laid it in the closet, and hung her coat on a hanger.
“Sure, you know me. I live here. I keep a fold-up cot in the closet. Why go home at all?” The older man retorted gruffly, his sharp gaze meeting hers for a moment. Hidden in his eyes was pleasure at her arrival.
“Oh, by the way, Jeff’s not coming in today. Had to take one of his kids to the dentist, or something. Says he’ll finish his stories at home on his laptop and will email them in first thing tomorrow.”
“So it’s just you and me today, huh, Zeke?” she said, not surprised. Jeff, a young reporter on his way up, as he liked to put it, wasn’t very dependable, kids or no kids. The Klamath Falls Journal for Jeff Spenser was one of those underpaid first steps on his road to the Pulitzer. He’d been with them six months, and Ann didn’t expect him to last another six. Few of the young reporters stayed long because the Journal couldn’t afford to pay good wages. Maybe that was one of the reasons Zeke valued Ann. She actually cared about the newspaper and didn’t want it to go under. Her caring had created a special bond between her and the old editor.
“Not that it matters much lately,” Zeke stated. “If the circulation drops any more, we won’t need him. We won’t need anybody for anything ‘cause there won’t be a paper.”
“Ah, Zeke, this paper’s not going to fold, not if you and I can help it. And if you’d listen to me and do a few more circulars for the stores around here to insert in the Journal, we’d made a bundle. And if we also did a shopper–”
“If I told you once,” he cut her off gently, “I told you a hundred times, Ann Shore, that if I’d wanted to run a printing company, I would have bought one. This is a newspaper. We print the news, remember?”
“A lot of small newspapers produce circulars and shoppers for extra revenue. It would bring in the money we need to stay afloat.” She’d also tried to get him to let her post the newspaper online, but he’d hear nothing about that. No way, he’d said. Newspapers were printed.
“Not us. We’re a newspaper, we print the news. Period.”
Ann gave up. They’d had the same discussion before, many times, but the elderly newspaper man was stubborn; set in his ways.
Zeke grumbled under his breath and thumped the side of his computer with a loud whack. “Darn thing’s acting up again. We never should have thrown away those typewriters.”
“Yeah, we should have stayed in the stone age, too.” Ann tilted her head. But Zeke was right about their computers. He’d bought them used, to save money, and they were forever acting up or breaking down. Zeke and Ann spent as much time lately babying them as they did writing and producing on them.
Ann knew how shaky things were getting for the Journal. It wasn’t only that people these days didn’t seem to read as much, which was what Zeke said, and it wasn’t that they didn’t
If you wanted to live in this part of Oregon, you had to have a rugged four-wheel drive. At least eight months out of the year the roads, especially the back ones, were a nightmare. They were covered with three feet of snow or ice, or were mired in mud, and often impassable. And for another two months, during the tail end of fall and the tail end of winter, it rained so much it was like an Asian monsoon. Summer was brief but sweet. The extreme weather was the only thing that Ann wasn’t crazy about.
But her husband loved everything about Oregon. Snow or endless rain didn’t disturb him. He was just happy to be living out in the woods. Her mountain man.
When she got to the newspaper, Zeke was busy at his computer. Try as she might, she rarely beat him in.
“Don’t tell me you spent the night here?” She clucked as she shook out her umbrella, laid it in the closet, and hung her coat on a hanger.
“Sure, you know me. I live here. I keep a fold-up cot in the closet. Why go home at all?” The older man retorted gruffly, his sharp gaze meeting hers for a moment. Hidden in his eyes was pleasure at her arrival.
“Oh, by the way, Jeff’s not coming in today. Had to take one of his kids to the dentist, or something. Says he’ll finish his stories at home on his laptop and will email them in first thing tomorrow.”
“So it’s just you and me today, huh, Zeke?” she said, not surprised. Jeff, a young reporter on his way up, as he liked to put it, wasn’t very dependable, kids or no kids. The Klamath Falls Journal for Jeff Spenser was one of those underpaid first steps on his road to the Pulitzer. He’d been with them six months, and Ann didn’t expect him to last another six. Few of the young reporters stayed long because the Journal couldn’t afford to pay good wages. Maybe that was one of the reasons Zeke valued Ann. She actually cared about the newspaper and didn’t want it to go under. Her caring had created a special bond between her and the old editor.
“Not that it matters much lately,” Zeke stated. “If the circulation drops any more, we won’t need him. We won’t need anybody for anything ‘cause there won’t be a paper.”
“Ah, Zeke, this paper’s not going to fold, not if you and I can help it. And if you’d listen to me and do a few more circulars for the stores around here to insert in the Journal, we’d made a bundle. And if we also did a shopper–”
“If I told you once,” he cut her off gently, “I told you a hundred times, Ann Shore, that if I’d wanted to run a printing company, I would have bought one. This is a newspaper. We print the news, remember?”
“A lot of small newspapers produce circulars and shoppers for extra revenue. It would bring in the money we need to stay afloat.” She’d also tried to get him to let her post the newspaper online, but he’d hear nothing about that. No way, he’d said. Newspapers were printed.
“Not us. We’re a newspaper, we print the news. Period.”
Ann gave up. They’d had the same discussion before, many times, but the elderly newspaper man was stubborn; set in his ways.
Zeke grumbled under his breath and thumped the side of his computer with a loud whack. “Darn thing’s acting up again. We never should have thrown away those typewriters.”
“Yeah, we should have stayed in the stone age, too.” Ann tilted her head. But Zeke was right about their computers. He’d bought them used, to save money, and they were forever acting up or breaking down. Zeke and Ann spent as much time lately babying them as they did writing and producing on them.
Ann knew how shaky things were getting for the Journal. It wasn’t only that people these days didn’t seem to read as much, which was what Zeke said, and it wasn’t that they didn’t
Similar Books
