Page 4 of Fire Bear

“Hi, I’m Ash. I run the Fire Patrol on Fate Mountain. I like the outdoors…” He felt silly typing it. Once done, he stared at the Submit button. Did he really want to do this?

An inexplicable current of curiosity guided his hand and he clicked. The screen flashed, telling him the system was cross-referencing profiles. The little loading bar inched forward. Ash leaned back in his chair, a mix of amusement and embarrassment swirling in his gut.

After a minute, the results page popped up. It listed potential matches with percentages. The highest he saw was a 94% match for a woman who lived three states away. Then an 87% match for a local teacher, and a 79% match for someone in a neighboring town. But no 100% match.

Ash felt deflated, more than he cared to admit. “Ridiculous,” he murmured, closing the laptop.

Chapter

Three

Eliana Hampton crossedthe orchard’s main yard and paused to admire her family’s legacy of heirloom apple trees. Inhaling deeply, she filled her lungs with crisp morning air. In her hand was a worn leather notebook. Every morning, she methodically checked the orchard’s soil moisture, leaf condition, and fruit development.

Pacing down the first row, she crouched near a tree root and pressed her fingers into the soil. Not too dry, not overly damp. Perfect for this stage of the season. She jotted a note in her book: “Row A2 soil moisture: good. Light mulching recommended next week.” Then she rose and moved on, passing clusters of wildflowers that danced in the gentle breeze.

As she neared the second row, she paused to inspect a few leaves that showed the faintest hint of yellowing, possibly a minor nutrient deficiency. Another note went into her book. She would add a balanced, organic fertilizer next week if necessary. She patted the tree’s trunk as though offering encouragement.

Up ahead, her nineteen-year-old apprentice Mateo stood on tiptoe, staring intently at a cluster of apple blossoms. He wastall and lanky, with an untamed mop of dark hair. When Eliana approached, he turned, practically beaming.

“Morning, Ms. Hampton,” he said, voice filled with excitement. “I was examining these blossoms. Look how this cluster developed late. Is this the heirloom variety you said might bloom off-schedule?”

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You are correct. That’s a variety I grafted from a very old line. It doesn’t follow the orchard’s usual timeline.”

Mateo ran a finger gently under a soft pink bloom. “Will that affect the harvest date?”

Eliana jotted another note in her book and answered: “It will be ready to harvest deeper into autumn. Patience is key, Mateo. We have to gather data across multiple seasons to truly know a variety.”

He nodded. “I can’t believe how many different strains you grow here. I know bigger farms prefer mainstream apple types, but this orchard is like a living library of lost varieties.”

She felt a swell of warmth at his words. “That’s exactly what we aim for. My grandparents fought to preserve these heirloom apples. Some date back centuries, each one with its own unique taste, texture, and resilience to pests or weather.”

Mateo’s eyes sparkled. “I want to help more once the festival is over. Maybe catalog them with pictures, create a digital record. I’m good with computers.”

Eliana found herself nodding. “That would be wonderful. We can talk about it next week.”

He gave a thumbs-up and moved on to inspect another row. She exhaled, smiling at his enthusiasm. Mentoring him reminded her of how her grandparents had once guided her. She only hoped to pass on the orchard’s legacy as thoroughly as they had.

They strolled together toward the orchard’s festival area, a cleared section ringed by mature apple trees. A row of tables stood under canvas canopies, partially set up for cider tastings. Another small stage had been erected for music and demonstrations.

Eliana planned to give several demonstrations, tutorials, and Q&A sessions. She picked up a clipboard with the festival schedule: a grid of vendor assignments and volunteer shift lists.

“Looks like we’ll have around a dozen local vendors,” Eliana noted, scanning her papers. “Artisanal cheeses, honey, baked goods, and crafts.”

Mateo’s face lit up. “That’s going to draw a good crowd. Didn’t last year’s festival get swamped by tourists?”

She chuckled, remembering the rush. “Yes, so we expanded. The orchard has earned a reputation. We’re expecting maybe double the turnout this year.”

He whistled softly. “We’ll be busy. I’ll help wherever needed.”

Eliana gently tapped her pen on the clipboard. “Thank you. I appreciate your willingness.” Her gaze swept the festival grounds. Workers hammered a sign into the ground: “Heirloom Apple Festival This Weekend!” The orchard buzzed with excitement.

Eliana called out directions to her crew: “Remember to keep the booths spaced out so lines don’t overlap. And we need to finalize the demonstration schedule by tomorrow evening.”

Several orchard staffers nodded, hustling about with tarps and folding tables. A few volunteers tested a small speaker system. Despite the early hour, anticipation for the weekend soared. Eliana’s chest swelled with both pride and nerves. Eliana’s orchard manager, Talia Morgan, emerged from the cider barn.

“Talia,” Eliana greeted. “How’s the festival supply inventory looking?”

“Pretty good.” Her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail. She held a clipboard tight in her hand.

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