A/N: Thank you again to my beta readers! You are both awesome. Thank you also to all of you who have taken time to post your reviews. I hope not to have so much time between chapters from now on. Since I posted chapter 1, I have been extremely busy. In fact, I even traveled to Ukraine to help out at an English Language Camp for teens. Life should be settling down a bit now so that I can focus on my writing.


Captain Gage latched eyes with his young lineman for a long moment, though the scent of freshly made banaha bread rising from the basket proved a powerful distraction. He fought the urge to close his eyes and breathe in deeply the scent of his childhood. Aunt Taloa made a good banaha bread, but nothing like Nita's, which he remembered came second only to her mother's. "Folsom, it's good to meet you," he said evenly. His eyes drifted to the basket. "Brought something for us?"

"Banaha bread." Billy beamed. "My mother's recipe, sir." He opened the basket and held it out for Gage to take one. "Try it."

"Thank you." Johnny reached in and took a husk-wrapped packet. "Yakoke," he repeated in Choctaw this time, his voice growing husky. He didn't say so, but I bet Nita's hands wrapped this, he thought. Does she know about me? Suddenly unable to speak, he shot up and moved toward his office. "Roll call in ten," he barked before disappearing through the door, leaving a befuddled crew behind.

Five minutes later, C-shift returned from their call. Johnny was sitting at the desk, staring at the unwrapped banaha when Captain Stoker pushed open the door and stepped inside. "Johnny?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Johnny shook his head and looked up. "Hi, Mike."

"Everything ok?" Mike asked. He was covered in soot and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Yeah… yeah, everything's fine." Johnny pushed the banaha away from him and vacated the desk chair. "You look wiped out. Busy night?"

"Rough call. An apartment fire. Glad to hand things over to you. Welcome back to 51's." Even now as a captain, Mike tended to be sparse with his words.

"Thanks," Johnny said. "I'd better get roll call going or I'll have to give myself latrine duty. See you later, Mike." After his friend had left for the locker room, he unwrapped the corn shucks and lifted out the morsel of cornbread that was nestled inside. Closing his eyes, he broke off a piece and popped it in his mouth, savoring the flavors. Wild onions, he thought. That's what always made Nita's banaha taste so good. He tossed the discarded husks in the trash, then hurried out to the bay where the men were assembled for roll call.


Nita pulled the slip of paper from her pocket and reread it. Housekeeper needed immediately. Excellent pay. No references necessary. Call 555-8334 to schedule interview. She had torn the slip from a handwritten 'Help Wanted' notice posted on the front wall at Davey's Market. She hadn't told Billy yet, but yesterday had marked the end of her housecleaning job for the Taylor family. After three weeks of feeling Mr. Taylor's eyes leering at her wherever she went in the house, she had collected her pay and informed Mrs. Taylor that she would not be back. When Nita refused to give a reason for leaving, Mrs. Taylor refused to give her a reference in spite of her excellent work. The want ad at Davey's had seemed like a blessing. Now, though, as Nita read over it again, she felt a nervous flutter in her gut. She dismissed it with a shake of her head, then picked up the telephone receiver and dialed the number. Ring… ring… She played with the phone cord, untwisting the coils and then letting them curl back up. Ring… ring… ring… She had just pulled the phone away from her ear to hang it up when she heard a voice on the other end.

"Hello?"

Nita hurriedly brought the receiver back to her ear. "Hello. My name is Nita Folsom. I saw your ad for a housekeeper at Davey's Market. Could I please schedule an interview?"

"Of course, of course," the voice said. It was a man's voice. Smooth as silk, Nita thought with a slight smile. Sounds a little like Amafo [Grandfather]. The voice, which introduced itself as belonging to Edgar Lansing, gave her an address and directions, then asked, "Can you be here by 9:30?"

"Yes, I will be there!" she said, smiling brightly. The house would be an easy walk, and she would even pass by Billy's station on the way—perhaps she would leave early and stop to say hello and meet his new crew. The men at 110's had always welcomed her warmly. In fact, she thought a couple of them had even been sweet on her, much to her protective brother's dismay. She had accepted their friendly attention with a grateful smile, but nothing more—her heart had been broken once, and she would not let it happen again.

By 8:15, the dishes had been washed and stacked in the small cabinet and the kitchen was neat as a pin. Nita took ten minutes to make her bed and Billy's, then regarded the pile of clean laundry ready to be folded and put away. That could wait until evening, she decided, taking the time instead to slip into a serviceable but attractive blue dress and a comfortable pair of shoes. She inspected her hair in the bathroom mirror, wetting her fingers and slicking a few errant strands into place. By ten minutes to 9, she was satisfied that her appearance passed muster. She settled her purse on her shoulder, stepped through the front door and locked it, then hurried on her way.

Both the squad and the engine were gone when Nita passed by Station 51, so she didn't bother stopping, instead continuing her brisk walk along 223rd. It would be good to arrive a few minutes early, after all. By 9:20, she gazed from the sidewalk at a small stucco house on E. 222nd, fighting her nerves again. All her instincts told her to turn around and go home. But she needed the money. She was determined to earn her GED and then find a way to get into nursing school, just as she'd dreamed of doing before Mama passed on. This job would help her get there. Finally, five minutes early for her interview, she steeled herself, marched to the front door, and rang the bell.

Edgar Lansing set Nita at ease almost instantly. He brought her into his living room and pointed her to a comfortable armchair, then brought her a cup of peppermint tea and a plate of store-bought chocolate chip cookies. Nita's attention was captured almost immediately by a framed black and white photograph sitting on a side table next to the sofa. In it, Mr. Lansing had his arm wrapped around a lovely grey-haired woman. They were holding hands and smiling broadly.

Mr. Lansing noticed her gaze was directed at the photo and gave a melancholy sigh. "My wife and I. She died three months ago." He gestured around him. "I can't keep this house the way she did. I'm getting old and slow and my son's not much for housework, so I decided to hire someone to take care of it for me." A layer of dust coating the television set and bookshelves and window blinds attested to his lack of skills. "Tell you what—I like you, Nita. You seem like a nice girl, real respectful and personable. Like I said, I'm not requiring references. How about you work for me for one week and we'll see how it goes. You can start right away. I'll pay you $55 for the week, and on Friday I'll let you know my decision. If I decide to make it long term, we'll negotiate your pay then."

"That's more than fair, Mr. Lansing, sir," Nita agreed. "Thank you. Point me to the kitchen and I'll get started right now." Smiling, she stood and took up the empty tea cups and the platter. Washing up the breakfast dishes seemed like a logical place to start. She planned to follow dishes with dusting, and then she would vacuum the thick blue shag carpet that covered the living room floor.


The klaxons sounded before they ever finished with roll call, and they had hardly stopped all day. Most of the time, the entire crew was together, but on a few occasions Johnny's two paramedics drove away without the engine crew. Even after four years as a captain, Johnny still felt a pang of longing as Mitch and Trace climbed into the squad and all he did was acknowledge the call and pass the address slip through the window. He had, of course, kept up his paramedic certification, and occasionally it came in handy, but it was no longer his job.

About 9:00 in the evening, having knocked down a refinery fire and three garbage fires, rescued a 16-year-old boy who had wrapped his car around a light pole, assisted- at two births (the first on the shoulder of the 405), and stoically swallowed their emotions when a multi-vehicle accident resulted in the deaths of four young children and their mother, the weary engine crew finally gathered around the table at the station for dinner; Mitch and Trace were still at Rampart with the single survivor of the MVA—a drunk driver who insisted she wasn't to blame—but Johnny didn't want to delay any longer. Instead of cooking an elaborate meal, they made do with sandwich fixings and the leftover banaha.

Pretending to focus on his food, Johnny surreptitiously observed his young lineman. Throughout the day, Billy had proven himself a valuable member of the crew. He was a likable fellow, and the guys seemed to have taken to him well. 51's new captain had been especially interested to overhear Billy confiding in Mitch during a brief moment of downtime that his real interest lay in rescue and paramedic work. The kid planned to put some savings by and enroll in the necessary training once he got a bit more experience under his belt, and he hoped Mitch and Trace might give him some pointers. So far, Billy's only real fault seemed to be his naiveté. Johnny knew the kid had been in L.A. for at least a year and a half, but he seemed like he had stepped straight off the res into the station house. Johnny was curious about what brought him and Nita to California, but he would not allow himself to ask. All day, the captain had worked at maintaining distance between himself and his junior lineman, even though it felt awkward and unnatural. He had always been proud of treating each member of his crew like family, but Billy reminded him too strongly of Nita. Johnny just wasn't sure the kid's placement at 51's was going to work


If he hadn't missed lunch, Billy would have passed up dinner when they finally got back to the station. He didn't have much appetite, but he knew he needed to eat. The entire day had been a disappointment. Oh, the guys were great… that is, all of them except the one he had most looked forward to getting to know—Captain Gage. He could feel the Cap's eyes on him now, cold and disapproving. The man he had idolized for years, whose approval he craved more than anyone's, hated him. Pretending he was unaware of the scrutiny, he hunched over his ham and Swiss and downed it as quickly as he could, all the while examining the events of the day and trying to figure out where he went wrong. For the life of him, he couldn't think of anything. As soon as it seemed reasonable, he excused himself from the table and made his way to the washroom, hoping the klaxons would remain quiet long enough for him to shower. He didn't dare let himself formulate the hope for a night free of calls—everyone knew that as soon as you expressed such thoughts, the tones would sound and you'd be off on a long and arduous response. Fully aware that his older sister would scold him for such superstition, the most he would allow himself was a vague whispered plea to Chihowa [God] for a little bit of rest.

He finished his quick hot shower in peace and made ready for bed. Thankfully, the klaxons remained silent, and soon the discouraged lineman was tucked under the covers, sound asleep.