Free Private affairs : a novel by Judith Michael Page B

Elizabeth's body. "Our way. We'll do everything we dreamed of. We waited so long, now we'll do it all. My God, we're going to be the greatest Mom and Pop business in America!"
    Elizabeth laughed and they kissed, holding each other, their bodies fitting together.
    "Excuse us," said Peter, lounging in the doorway. "We thought we were here for a guided tour from the boss. Bosses."
    "/ didn't want to interrupt you," Holly said. "I thought it was crude."
    "So I'm crude." Peter shrugged, attempting nonchalance. "I just thought it'd be sorta nice to see what we bought."
    "Yes it would be," said Elizabeth, still in Matt's arms. "I just thought that first it would be sorta nice to kiss your father."
    Peter reddened. "Sorry," he mumbled.
    "No problem," Matt said casually. "We'll make time for everything. And right now," he added as Lydia and Spencer came up, "the tour is about to begin."
    Elizabeth watched Matt lead the others through the long, low building, organizing the tour so that when they reached the back loading ramp, he'd given them a complete explanation of how a newspaper is planned, written, printed, and distributed through the city and nearby towns. But she was only half listening, letting her mind wander. We'll make time for everything. Nothing was ordinary anymore; everything was new. She thought about what she would be doing tomorrow and in the days to come. Making assignments instead of having them made for her. Writing the way she wanted instead of the way she was told. Working with Matt. Owning their paper.
    Ours.
    The glow began to fade the next morning, when sunlight showed the Chieftain to be simply another of Santa Fe's brownish-pink adobe build-

    ings where there was work to be done, and Elizabeth and Matt tried to build up courage for their first meeting with the staff.
    "Friday morning," Matt said. "Next issue of the paper due out next Thursday. All we have to do is get to know a bunch of people who have their own ways of doing things, convince them we're not going to change everything at once, make them feel needed, and at the same time sell ourselves as new owners who deserve respect and loyalty because we know what we're doing. ..."
    "Nothing to it," Elizabeth smiled. "Just be our usual charming selves." She picked up an envelope on Matt's desk. "Someone's already writing us letters."
    "Maybe they have a welcome wagon." Matt saw her face change as she read. "What is it?"
    "Ned Engle. He's quit. As of today."
    "Quit— r
    Matt skimmed the letter, his face darkening. "The son of a bitch. He gave me his word he'd stay on as managing editor. At least six months, he said; that lying son of a bitch—"
    "Matt, he knew this paper inside out; what are we going to do without him?"
    Matt paced the small office. "Bastard. Didn't even wait to see how we run the place—//we run it. Six days to get the paper out. You'd think he wants us to fall on our face. . . ."
    "Of course he does!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "That's exactly what he wants! He's waiting for us to call and beg him to come back."
    Matt stopped pacing. "Right. And he can wait until he grows roots. We're not going to be at the mercy of any son of a bitch who thinks he holds all the cards."
    Elizabeth's throat was dry. Her father had warned them, but they'd brushed it aside, so sure Engle would be there, his competence making their inexperience less obvious, giving them time to learn and take charge. "The reporters," she said, casting about. "They know the paper. Couldn't one of them take over, just for a while?"
    "I am not going to start out the first day by asking reporters to run our paper for us. God damn it!" Matt kicked his chair, making it spin a full revolution. "That bastard managed the whole operation; obviously he wasn't the greatest, since the paper was going downhill, but he did run it." And we've never run a newspaper, he thought. Not off the protected turf of a university.
    Elizabeth lined up a row of pencils on Matt's desk, very carefully,