Rafe Marquez, 53, spent 22 years as a hotshot wildland firefighter before a 2019 blaze in the Bitterroot Range left him with a ropy, silvery burn scar snaking up his left forearm and a medical discharge that landed him back in the small Missoula exurb he’d grown up in. He runs a one-man firewood delivery and forest thinning operation now, keeps to himself mostly, avoids family gatherings like the plague ever since his wife left him for a software salesman who never came home smelling like smoke and ash. He’d only stopped by the county fair that late August evening to drop off a half-cord of oak he’d donated for the weekend’s closing bonfire, planned to be in and out in 10 minutes, until the smell of spiced apple pie curled through the air and wrapped around his chest like a hug he didn’t know he needed.
He leaned against the split-rail fence surrounding the beer garden, cold IPA sweating in his right hand, left arm tucked tight to his side under his plaid flannel to hide the scar, and scanned the row of vendor booths until he spotted her. Lena Voss, his ex-wife’s 10 years younger half-sister, the kid who’d been 18 and sullen at his wedding, wearing a ratty Nirvana hoodie and rolling her eyes through the vows, was wiping a smudge of flour off her freckled cheek, honey-blonde braid slung over one shoulder, a bright sunflower tucked behind her ear. She looked up right as his gaze landed on her, froze for half a second, then huffed a laugh and wiped her hands on her denim apron before sauntering over.