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stepped aside.
    The outlaw shot through the opening and barreled headlong across the porch, slamming into the porch railing. The impact threw him into the air, and he landed flat on his back. Groaning, he rolled to his side and lay there.
    Joe and Frog stood on tiptoe, gaping at the standoff.
    Hope resumed her position. Recrossing her arms, she stared at them. They just didn’t know Hope Kallahan.
    Finally Big Joe gave in. “Hang it all! If she don’t want to come in, she don’t want to come in!”
    Frog tossed her suitcase on the cot. A cloud of dust rose and fogged the air.
    “What else could we expect from Ferry’s daughter? Livin’ in that big house with all kinds of servants,” Big Joe grumbled. “Have folks waitin’ on her, hand and foot. Spoiled rotten, that’s what she is.”
    Hope shot him an impatient glare.
    “Spoiled rotten,” Boris groused, rolling to his feet. He stretched, and bones popped.
    The men dismissed her, going about their business.
    Frog walked to the stove and lit it. He cut carrots and potatoes. Before long, he stirred them into a bubbling pot. Hope’s stomach knotted with hunger. It seemed like days since she’d eaten at the way station.
    Grunt removed his gun belt and hung it over a hook. Her eyes followed him as he moved about the room. There was something different about him. He seemed more in control, less volatile. Miles smarter. Why would he choose to ride with these miscreants?
    The men ate—a thin, watery stew with crusted slices of buttered bread. The smell of coffee made Hope faint. The men’s spoons mesmerized her. She could almost taste the potatoes, carrots. . . .
    “Hungry?” Boris asked without looking up.
    “No.” She looked away.
    “Hummm, mighty tasty vittles, Frog.” Joe dipped up a large spoonful of stew and held it out in front of him. Steam rose off the food, the heavenly smell wafting across the room. Hope swallowed and looked at the ceiling.
    Minutes ticked slowly by. The wind picked up, blowing a gale through the open doorway. Her thin cloak fluttered. Goose bumps welled on her arms.
    The men gulped down their food, shooting resentful glances at her and huddling deeper into their jackets as the wind whistled around their ears. Their breath formed frosty vapors in the air.
    An hour passed, then two. Hope couldn’t feel her legs now. The men were getting ready to bed down for the night, their teeth chattering as they rummaged for blankets.
    “Cold enough to hang meat in here,” Boris grumbled.
    “Leave her alone. She cain’t stand there all night.” Big Joe jerked a rug off the floor and wrapped it around his shoulders.
    Hope’s chin rose a notch. She could stand here forever or until she froze stiff. Whichever came first.
    “We take shifts watching her.” Big Joe unrolled his bedding. “Grunt, you and Frog take first shift. Me and Boris’ll take second. I want her watched ever’ minute until we get that ransom.”
    “She’ll have to have privacy, Joe.” Grunt pitched the remains of his coffee into the fire.
    “We’ll string a blanket—she’ll hafta make do. This ain’t no fancy hotel.”
    Grunt stared into the fire. “No one touches her. Is that understood?”
    When Big Joe opened his mouth, Grunt reiterated the order. “No one touches her. She’s to be treated like a lady at all times. We don’t want Ferry accusing us of hurting his little girl.”
    Boris bent down, trying to coax more heat from the old stove. “Maybe we ought not to ask so much for her. She’s mean—real mean. Her daddy might not want her back.”
    Big Joe grunted. “He’ll want her—he has to want her. She’s his daughter.”
    Hope choked back an angry response. If they thought the ransom wouldn’t be met, they might easily abandon her here alone, without food or water. She’d die in this filthy hole. She swallowed her complaints.
    “Cat got your tongue, Miss Ferry?” Boris grinned, rolling deeper into his blanket.
    Hope refused to look at