And then there were the smells. Freshly spun cotton candy, hot dogs grilled until they split open, something that gushed hot out of a machine and passed for cheese—all of this and more perfumed the air. The mouthwatering, caramel-salt smell of kettle corn had spelled the end of Dylan’s own self-control.

  Unfortunately, where humans gathered, they brought with them other smells—spilled soda, body odor, and overflowing bathrooms. Dylan pictured these aromas forming two teams, sweet versus rotten, good versus evil. Fighting it out like the players on the field, each side determined to take home the trophy. The mental image was silly, and she stifled a laugh.

  When it all became too much for her, Dylan mounted the steps to the upper deck of the stadium. She would get some exercise walking laps at a higher altitude and escape the crowd for a bit, before heading back down to her own seat in time for kickoff in an hour.

  She had not figured on getting knocked on her ass by a freight train.

  It had to be some form of locomotive that hit her and sent her ten-dollar popcorn flying out of her hands. Nothing else could account for the power, the sheer force, responsible for the collision. It knocked the air out of her lungs, the sunglasses off her face, the indignation off her tongue. Dylan rebounded off the obstacle, arms pinwheeling. She braced herself for a fall, but the impact never came.

  The train had two arms, wrapped around her middle. And he had a face.

  And God, what a face did he have.

  The man gazed down his nose at her, surprised but not in the slightest bit upset by their encounter. He had a strong jaw and a mouth cocked slightly off-center in a rueful smile. His eyes were a wintry blue, and his blond hair hung down past his incongruously square chin.

  “Excuse me, I didn’t—” she began.

  “Sorry about your—”

  They both offered their stumbling apologies at once. The man held up a finger, and Dylan clicked her mouth shut. Wait a minute—had he really just signaled her like she was a dog? But he stooped down in front of her like Cinderella’s prince to pick up her sunglasses, and she decided to let it slide, not least because this angle afforded her a stunning view of his shoulders. He was built like a prize bull, broad and powerful, with corded muscle rippling under his skin. It was all too easy to imagine how it might feel to touch him, to trace the contours of those big, sculpted arms.

  That was when it hit her, like the first kickoff of the season. They had never met before, but Dylan knew this man. His face was familiar, and so was his body. She’d ogled those arms before, but never from this angle or this close. No, she’d admired him on TV, and from the stands, and in the supermarket checkout line, splashed all over the tabloids. This man was football stock, but he wasn’t just any ordinary player.

  Charlie Wild, starting quarterback of the Texas Teamsters, straightened and brushed the popcorn kernels off her glasses before passing them back to her.

  “Yours, I believe.”

  “Thank you.”

  The way his eyes lingered on her…he must have some imagination hidden away in that impenetrable head of his, Dylan mused. She’d dressed for the game in a slouchy tee and mom jeans, but Charlie’s wandering eyes made clear he liked what he saw. His gaze settled at her waist, where her belt was cinched tight, hinting at the trim figure beneath her loose clothes. Dylan cleared her throat, and he snapped to attention.

  “Well…” Charlie frowned. Dylan had topped off her ensemble with a baseball cap, and it amused her to watch the behemoth lean in again, conspicuously this time, to try for a good glimpse of her face beneath the hat. Now that she knew who he was, she also knew his specs. Charlie Wild: six-foot-six, 280 pounds, thirty years old. He hadn’t just trained himself to peak physical perfection, he had invented it. In all her time pursuing a degree in sports medicine, Dylan had never been faced with a specimen quite like him. He looked like a Norse god descended from Asgard.

  And she looked like a mortal mess. For once, Dylan actually regretted dressing down for one of these games, but it didn’t appear her efforts—or lack thereof—had dissuaded Charlie from getting an eyeful. Dylan lifted the brim of her hat a little to gaze back at him defiantly. If he was used to women shrinking before him or melting into panty-twisted puddles of goo and thought she would do the same, he had another think coming.

  “You look like you’re incognito.” His voice boomed in his chest like a summer storm, like a packed stadium rumbling with applause. “You in some kind of trouble?”

  What a line! Amusement tugged at the corners of Dylan’s mouth despite herself. “Something tells me I might be,” she confessed.

  Charlie’s own mouth quirked at her response. Of course—he seemed the type to enjoy games, on or off the field. It factored into his public persona, but maybe there was more to it than just marketing.

  “Something tells me you can handle it,” he said.

  “Oh, I handle men like you every day in my line of work,” she agreed. She didn’t give him an inch, didn’t betray who or what she was.

  “I doubt you’ve ever handled a man like me,” he said.

  “That remains to be seen,” she replied. And likely will remain so, Dylan thought, even though she couldn’t resist pushing their innuendo to its natural conclusion.

  The last thing she’d intended when she got up this morning was to wind up flirting with the Teamsters’ star player. Apparently, he was as unprejudiced when it came to picking up women as Entertainment Weekly reported him to be. Dylan would never have guessed he could make time in his busy schedule for a woman who wasn’t a cheerleader or a Playboy model.

  “Speaking of things that remain to be seen…” Charlie indicated the box he had been headed toward. “Why don’t you come watch the game from the VIP suite? The only better view in this stadium is the one I’m already looking at.”

  “Hm.” Dylan pretended to deliberate, resting her hand on one cocked hip as she watched the box’s occupants file in. Suits, most of them—probably corporate bigwigs from sponsors and billionaire friends of the owner. A few had arm candy, similarly dressed up. “Something tells me you aren’t allowed to extend that invitation.”

  “C’mon, now.” Her resistance only seemed to make him more insistent. “Those guys are all watching us, and their girlfriends too. How will that look for me if you just walk away?”

  Dylan tried not to laugh, but a low snort broke loose. Charlie grinned in response, and raised an eyebrow.

  “Besides, I thought you said you could handle a little trouble.”

  And there it is. The Charlie Wild trifecta.

  It was interesting getting to check off every facet of Charlie Wild’s public persona firsthand. Confident bordering on cocky. Charming bordering on promiscuous. Irresponsible bordering on reckless. He barely knew her, and he was already willing to break the rules for her. Too bad he wouldn’t be present to face any of the fallout should she be caught.

  Dylan’s eyes followed a tall, bottle-blonde vixen breezing by them, her tight skirt accentuating every hypnotic swish of her buttocks. “I don’t think I’m dressed for it,” she replied. “But thanks for the offer.”

  Charlie, who had also been watching the blonde appreciatively, caught Dylan’s arm in a last-minute play as she turned to go. His massive palm encircled her entire bicep, and the physical reminder of his size and strength made her shiver a little. That hand had thrown more winning passes than any other this season; that hand commanded attention. It didn’t hang idly in the face of defeat.

  “Hey, now.” Charlie drew her close, till his chest brushed her shoulder. Dylan could feel his body heat clean through her shirt. A flick of her hand, and her knuckles would brush the abs that had sold an ocean of men’s fragrances. As a doctor, Dylan couldn’t deny her—strictly scientific—interest in feeling them for herself. The existence of the eight-pack was still disputed in some medical circles.

  “You look terrific,” he assured her. “A die-hard sports fan. You deserve a good seat. You’ll appreciate it more than those ex-Teamster cheerleaders.”

  Cheerleaders? Dylan hated to admit her interest was piqued, so she didn’t…At least, not out loud. She relented and allowed herself to be dragged into the box after Charlie. She pushed the bill of her cap up a bit further so she didn’t look like some antisocial Unabomber.

  It probably wasn’t every hot-blooded, heterosexual woman that could be lured with the promise of seeing cheerleaders up close. It wasn’t a career path Dylan had chosen for herself, but she had been a cheerleader in high school, and she missed aspects of the culture: the graceful, and sometimes brutal, physicality; the command of the crowd; the adoration of the fans. Probably all the same things Charlie Wild lived for.

  “Charlie! Where the hell have you been?” A man in a sharp suit hurried over to them as soon as they entered the box. His face was flushed, his hairline receding, his vintage Ray-Bans as expensive as his watch. He was public relations personified in a private box setting. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

  Dylan couldn’t be sure, thanks to his sunglasses, but she thought the man’s gaze glanced right off her as he descended on Charlie. Her presence didn’t even register.

  “Get your ass over to the autograph table. Someone get me a pen, please,”

  Charlie turned to her. “You want an autograph?”

  “Want is a strong word,” Dylan muttered, but she followed in the big quarterback’s wake. He pulled a chair out for her beside him, then he fished her a Gatorade from a cooler hidden beneath the table. Dylan accepted it politely, ignoring the way her heart jumped when his fingertips brushed hers.

  “I never drink these,” Charlie confided. “Too much sugar. But they’re a sponsor, so whenever you set it down, make sure the label’s turned out or Smitty will shit himself.”

  “Thanks…I think.” His gesture probably meant nothing, but Dylan couldn’t help but feel warm inside. It wasn’t every day the star quarterback of the Texas Teamsters invited you into a private box, pulled a chair out for you, and made sure you were hydrated.

  Grab your copy of Wild Heart

  August 3, 2023

  (Available for Pre-Order Now!)

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  Snowed In with the Rancher

  BLURB

  Snowed in at Christmas with the one that got away…

  Olivia Wickham never forgot her passionate romance with a sexy cowboy, Tate McConnell. After a family emergency forced them apart, Olivia searched, but couldn’t find him…not even to tell him she was pregnant with his twin daughters. Now, years later, she and the twins are stranded in the wilderness, with a blizzard bearing down. When a handsome rancher shows up to rescue them, Olivia is shocked to see it's Tate — the girls’ father.

  Time hasn’t dampened Tate’s attraction to the gorgeous Olivia. But he’s convinced himself he’s not cut out for family life, and it’s hard for a stubborn cowboy to change his ways. Still, the more time he spends trapped in a remote cabin with Olivia and his daughters, the more Tate begins to realize they may be just what his life has been missing…

  With Christmas around the corner, Olivia and Tate can’t help but feel like fate is offering them a second chance at love. But can they open their hearts enough to accept it?

  Grab your copy of Snowed In with the Rancher

  Available October 19, 2023

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  BLURB

  This cowboy needs an angel. And he may have just found one…

  Cowboy Dean Walters is no stranger to hard work. But when he takes full custody of his infant twins, he has to admit, even he can’t raise them alone. Hiring a nanny seems like a smart move. But hiring a beautiful nanny that makes his blood run hot proves to be problematic, especially as she’s only in this for the short term. Amira Davis may a godsend for Dean and his new family, but she’s causing this lonely cowboy a special kind of misery, as he slowly realizes he wants something more…

  Amira has one rule… She fixes families, but she doesn’t become part of them. Until she meets Dean. This sexy single dad may just be the most captivating man she’s ever met, and his family definitely needs her help. She’s committed to leave in two months, and a passionate romance isn’t part of her plans. But for the first time in her life Amira is tempted to break her number one rule. The question is, will it end up breaking her heart as well….

  Grab your copy of Cowboy’s Surprise Twins from

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  EXCERPT

  Chapter One

  There was a time when Dean had taken quiet for granted. It hadn’t been something to cherish or chase, but a forgone conclusion. He would spend large parts of his day, the parts not dedicated to running his fly-fishing business, in solitude. The sounds of the river hurrying busily beside his little cabin, the birds in the trees, and the unseen animals rummaging in the woods had been the soundtrack of his life.

  He had never realized how much he loved the quiet interrupted only by those little sounds, but he supposed that was how it went with people. So often, they didn’t realize what they had until they didn’t have it anymore. But the blissfulness of peace and quiet was not something Dean was going to take for granted ever again. Not now that he knew just how noisy life could be when you were caring for twin babies by yourself. He had been the sole parent to his three-month-old twins for only two weeks now, but calm and quiet already felt like a distant memory.

  As if to punctuate the point, Caitlyn, balanced on his hip, let out a warning whimper. Her brother, Calek, demanded absolute silence to sleep, but Caitlyn was different. The best way to get her to nod off and stay that way was to talk to her. Constantly. Even taking a break for a long breath was a precarious situation with this one.

  “I know, I’ve gotcha, baby girl,” he murmured, hefting her higher up on her hip and bouncing her lightly. “You’re the boss.”

  Francis Howard, the man he was trying to hold a phone conversation with while soothing the beast that was his sleep-deprived child, cleared his throat pointedly. “Well, now, I didn’t realize we were at that point in our friendship, Dean. I’m going to have to let that one sit with me for a bit.”

  “Sorry, man,” Dean said with a groan and an apologetic laugh. “That wasn’t meant for you. I’m working with a situation here.”

  Francis chuckled into the phone. “Understood. But what the hell is going on, man? Is that a baby I hear? Are you babysitting for your sister or something?”

  While technically, Dean worked for Francis—on a contract basis, through Dean’s fly-fishing business whenever the high-powered businessman needed a break and carved out a week for a vacation—the two of them had made enough conversation over enough fishing trips that they knew some basics about each other. Including the fact that Dean had a sister with three kids. Though he must not have shared enough info for Francis to realize that his two nieces and nephew weren’t babies anymore. If he’d said it, Francis would have remembered. The construction magnate had a mind like a steel trap. He forgot nothing.

  Dean groaned. “Don’t I wish. The youngest of my sister’s kids is six years old—she’s potty trained, old enough to go down for a nap by herself, and capable of opening her mouth and actually telling me what she needs instead of crying. No, the baby you’re hearing isn’t my niece. It’s my daughter.”

  Francis let out a slow whistle. “You weren’t kidding when you said you had a situation. Since when do you have a daughter?”

  “Since five days ago—and you don’t know the half of it. Literally. I don’t just have a daughter, I have a son, too. Twins. Three months old.”

  “And their mama?”

  “One night stand from last year,” Dean admitted, feeling a little embarrassed. “You know how they say no form of birth control is one hundred percent effective? Well… Anyway, first I heard of it was two weeks ago, when social services called to say that she was giving up her parental rights. I could take the kids myself, or they’d go into foster care.”

  “So you took them yourself,” Francis finished. “Of course you did. You’re a good man, Dean Walters.”

  “Well, right now, I’m a sleep-deprived man,” Dean retorted. “I don’t think I’ve slept more than an hour at a stretch since they arrived.”

  “Sounds to me like you need help.”

  “Don’t I know it.” With the babies and with so much more. It wasn’t like things had exactly been going smooth for him even before the babies arrived. But that was something he wouldn’t get into with Francis. Their relationship was friendly, sure, but that wasn’t quite the same as being actual friends. He didn’t want the man he’d come to respect and admire through their fishing expeditions to realize what a screw up he really was. “I hired a nanny—found her online. She’s coming today. Hopefully, she’ll be able to get things running smoothly.” Dean was pinning every hope he had on that, actually, because he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

  “Speaking of which,” he added, “it looks like she’s actually coming up the road right now. I’m going to have to let you go.”

  Francis made some vaguely supportive comments before hanging up. Dean attempted to slide his phone into his back pocket without upsetting his hold on his Caitlyn. After five days, he still felt like he was constantly on the verge of dropping his babies, which was not the first impression he wanted to make on the new nanny. There would be plenty of time for him to prove his incompetence to her as the days and weeks wore on. No reason to make that case withing the first five minutes of knowing her.