RELEASE BLITZ
Book Title: Remedy (A Tulip Farm Romance)
Author: Alex Hall
Publisher: Madison Place Press
Cover Artist:
Rebecca Slather
Release Date:
September 2, 2021
Genre: Contemporary
M/Nonbinary romance
Tropes: Sports romance
(equestrian), friends to lovers
Themes: Acceptance of
change in circumstances, rehab to recovery
Heat Rating: 4
flames
Length: 90 000 words/ 240
pages
It is a standalone story and
also book one of a series. It does not end on a
cliffhanger.
Buy Links
Barnes and Noble |
Kobo
Reed helps Peter realize
that there is life and love after a life and career-changing accident.
Blurb
At just 28, Peter is one of the youngest athletes ever to
secure a spot on Team USA’s Show Jumping roster for the Paris Summer Olympics. With the
support a large, equestrian-centric family behind him Peter’s a shoo-in to win individual
gold—
—until a freak on-course accident badly injures Peter and
the talented mare he’d been riding. Dreams of success in Paris quickly coming apart, he
holes up at the family complex, Tulip Farm, to rehab and re-assess. His parents and three
siblings try to keep his spirits up, but it’s hard to focus on the future when by night he’s
plagued by reoccurring headaches and by day he can barely walk without pain.
Reed Androku has recently chosen to follow their passion:
holistic equine rehabilitation. Tulip Farm – an immaculate facility run by the famous
McAuley-Griffin clan – seems the perfect place to chase that dream, and when the family
unexpectedly opens up Barn A to boarders, Reed jumps at the opportunity. They’ll happily
take advantage of roomy stalls, heated arena, and state-of-the-art footing even if it means
putting up with Peter Griffin, the family’s youngest son and ex-Olympic hopeful.
Peter needs healing, and a reason to hope. Reed’s got a
knack for rehab and a soft-heart for hard cases, but they also have a dangerous secret. Fate
throws Peter and Reed together, sparking a passion that could turn into something deeper,
but first they must weather Peter’s recovery, the McAuley-Griffin family’s obsessive need to
meddle, and Reed’s violent past.
Excerpt
As far as Peter was concerned, the only thing of worth he
could ever be was an Olympic show jumper.
He’d been born into it, after all. His mum was a McAuley.
County Kildare stock, and for as far back as anyone bothered to keep track, the County
Kildare McAuleys had been horse people. Peter’s maternal grandfather and granduncle had
made their fortunes breeding and racing thoroughbreds in Ireland. Peter’s mum, Aine
McAuley, was a track rat grown into Ireland’s most decorated eventing star. And Peter’s dad,
though no County Kildare McAuley, had plenty of horse chops of his own. Gabe Griffin had
ridden to team gold for Great Britain in Barcelona, the same Olympics Aine had tried—and
failed by the slimmest margin—to bring home an individual medal for Ireland.
She always said she’d regretted the miss for exactly
forty-five seconds, the time it had taken to dismount after her stadium round, toss her reins
at her cousin and stand-in groom, Finley, and glance past her disappointed family at the
young man with the salt-and-pepper hair watching from the shadows of the ingate.
That young man was Peter’s da. He’d come over from the
Olympic stables to get a glimpse of the McAuley winning machine at work and instead found
himself captured by a pair of wide violet eyes over a petulant, spoiled mouth. Gabe had
already heard more than a few things about Aine McAuley. Her easy way with horses, her
exacting eye for breed lines. Her tendency to collect suitors like candy and toss them away
again, half-consumed. And her—possibly obsessive—drive for excellence in all
things.
“Bad luck,” he’d famously dared say with typical British
aplomb and specific Gabe Griffin bluntness as those furious violet eyes attempted to flay
him from a distance for the sin of witnessing a McAuley nonperformance. “But not entirely
your fault. He’s off in the right hind, don’t you know, just the barest whisper but enough to
send him flat over the last three and cost you the time faults.” Hands in his pockets, he
shrugged when all three McAuleys glared at him in disbelief. “Like I said, just the barest
whisper, easy for even the best of us to miss, but I saw it from up in the risers. If I were you,
I’d have him looked at immediately.”
“What the hell do you know about it?” Aine’s father and
coach, Shane, had blustered. Gabe was quite clearly wearing the track jacket of a British
Olympian and a color-coded tag on a lanyard around his neck that meant he had
unrestricted access to the Olympic barns, but that wasn’t necessarily a point in his favor.
Quite the opposite, in fact. “And why in God’s name should we listen to the
competition?”
Gabe shrugged again. He hadn’t reached so far in life by
backing down. “For the horse’s sake, I imagine. He’s a brave fellow, and bold. No matter the
gruff show you put on for the papers, Shane McAuley, we each of us know the animal’s
welfare comes first, and a bit of healthy competition won’t change that.”
At last those remarkable violet eyes softened.
“The Olympics are hardly ‘a bit of healthy competition,’ Mr.
Griffin,” Aine said softly, her accent rolling pleasantly with the music of Ireland. “But you’re
not wrong. Oh, stop snarling, Da. I felt it when we landed fence six. A stinger, and after that
he couldn’t balance up. Poor Ross.” She stroked the chestnut gelding’s neck. The horse, still
blowing hard, sniffed hopefully at her gloved hand in search of a sugar cube. “Let’s hope it’s
not lasting.” She tugged a sugar cube from her breeches pocket, smiled a challenge at Gabe.
“Right hind, you say? Well. Why don’t you come back with me to the warm-up ring and we’ll
look him over.”
They were married less than a year later, and just like any
sport horse carefully bred to succeed, Peter’s fate—and that of his three older siblings—was
sealed.
***
“Beautiful day for a ride,” Kate Griffin told Peter cheerfully,
smoothing long dark hair back from her forehead and securing it into a high ponytail with an
elastic slipped from her wrist.
It was the same thing his older sister said before every first
round, the same thing she’d said when they were children and he’d ridden his pony, Cricket,
for the first time at Devon while she stood at the ingate, all pigtails and wide eyes and quiet
confidence, and he’d won the class blue. It didn’t matter whether they were indoors or out,
whether he was showing first thing in the a.m. or after dark in the p.m., whether the sun
was shining, or they were in the middle of a blizzard. Horse people were a superstitious sort
and the Irish a superstitious people, which meant Kate and Peter Griffin were superstitious
twice over and just fine with it.
“Remember,” Kate continued as she stepped sideways to
avoid being trampled by Annie’s eager, dancing trot. “Six and Seven come up quick, balance
her back. And Five will take some leg, what with the Liverpool, and we know how she feels
about water in the indoor, poor Annie. She’s not alone. Other people are having
trouble.”
About the Author
Sarah Remy/Alex
Hall is a nonbinary, animal-loving, proud gamer Geek. Their work can be found in a variety of
cool places, including HarperVoyager, EDGE and
NineStar Press.
Author Links
Blog/Website |
Twitter: @sarahremywrites
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