TITLE: Kitt Wilde's Wyoming
GENRE: Historical YA
"Kitt, come alive," Pa called in a low voice meant to wake only me. But I was already awake and halfway into yesterday's jeans. Not even the thick log walls of our ranch house could block the ruckus going on outside. To hear the horses and dogs tell it, another grizzly had found its way to the Bar G.
My sisters stirred. "Stay in bed," I whispered. "I'll go." It felt much earlier than get-up-for-chores early.
With my unruly curls knotted high on the back of my head, I stepped into the kitchen to tug on my boots and coat. Pa had coaxed the lantern to a soft glow. He handed me a lever gun and a handful of cartridges, then took the same for himself. The door gave a mournful whine as it closed behind us.
"Stay on the porch now. If you get a shot, take it." He took a long look in the direction the dogs were pointed. "I'll be out by the barn."
"Jake, Clipper," I commanded. Both dogs came to me, even if unwillingly, growling and chuffing, hackles up. "Shush." Cow dogs are fearless and protective, and these two thought they could boss anything wearing hair. It was for their own good that I shut ‘em in the house.
I hung the lantern high on the north end of the long covered porch and walked quietly past the door to the other end, boot heels striking dull thuds on the wood planks.