“No pineapple?” I had noticed he usually picked burgers without pickles, but the pineapple thing was new. “On pizza or on anything?”
“Anything.” Carson made a sour face. “Makes my mouth burn.”
“Don’t want that,” I said before I could think better of it. Heat crackled between us, the memory of last night’s double header hanging between our linked gazes like a banner.
Carson was the first to look away, glancing down at his eggs. “Frosting is too sweet.”
“I’ll take your frosting.” I smiled, worried less about innuendo after the easy way he’d returned to the topic. He was right. This didn’t have to be weird. “Cake is merely a vehicle for icing.”
“Says you.” Carson’s tone was teasing, and the familiarity of this exchange pushed the last of the awkward tension from my chest. Carson stabbed a bite of sausage before continuing. “Don’t like soup.”
“Bah.” I faked disappointment at this difference between us. “I eat far too much canned stuff. It’s easy. I hate cooking, especially for one.”
“Never learned.” Carson’s eyebrows drew closer together. “Wouldn’t mind trying.”
A cozy scene of Carson learning to cook in my kitchen flitted through my brain. Warmth spread down my arms, hands clenching with how much I wanted that.
“I can grill though.” The urge to share that sort of domestic scene with him was so strong I’d happily buy him a stack of cookbooks. In the meantime, though, maybe I could lure him over to my place. “My offer of steak and gaming still stands.”
“Steak needs to be rare.” Carson nodded like his coming for dinner was a done deal.
“I can work with that.” I grinned at him, as happy as I’d been all morning.
“Then it’s a…” Carson paused, a muscle working in his jaw. Hell. I couldn’t tell whether he was struggling to find the word or simply didn’t want to say date.
“Hang out.” I broke my own rule of not filling in words for him.
“Sure.” Carson’s mouth twisted, but before I could overthink his expression, my phone beeped with an incoming message from the manager at the equine hospital. I typed a quick reply, then turned my attention back to Carson, who was finishing up his breakfast.
“RC’s pathology results are back. And neurology wants to meet with us before the luncheon.”
“Good.” Carson nodded at this news. “What did pathology say?”
“Benign. Thank goodness.” I exhaled. Equine cancer was rare, but the consequences and hard conversations were something I was only too grateful to avoid. “The team wants to discuss removal versus watchful waiting.”
“Great news.” Carson sped through the last few bites on his plate.
After breakfast, we made our way to campus and the equine hospital. Because today was a Saturday, there was less activity at the hospital, but plenty of people remained around. Because sick horses could need round-the-clock care, staff rotated shifts throughout the week.
Further, since it was an alum weekend, more folks were working prior to the luncheon at noon, including the head of neurology. Like Scott, she was from my graduating class, but thankfully, I didn’t know her well beyond being aware that she’d graduated at the top of the class and had gone on to specialize in equine neurology with an unparalleled reputation.
“You’ve brought us an unusual case.” Dr. Cross, who insisted we call her Cynthia, met us in a small conference room. Shewas a small woman with delicate features and long auburn hair gathered into a bun. She projected a series of MRI images onto a large wall-mounted screen opposite us. “I’ve never seen an MRI quite like this.”
“Tumor?” Carson asked, squinting at the various images of Linus’s brain.
“No, but there’s clear evidence of prior damage, like a stroke or some sort of injury.” Cynthia used an enlarged mouse cursor to point to the areas she was most concerned with, zooming in on a few spots.
“Knew it.” Carson gave an emphatic nod.
“You were right.” I released a heavy sigh. This wasn’t something to celebrate, even if I was happy to prove Scott’s initial assessment wrong. “I was hoping you weren’t.” I shifted my attention back to Cynthia. “How bad is it?”
Cynthia launched into the medical specifics, showing which areas had the most damage and explaining the evidence of a prior significant brain hemorrhage. It was honestly a wonder the horse had lived through it, let alone that he was still upright and had at least some ability to walk.
“With a case this complex, we need to discuss options.” Cynthia took on a solemn expression. “Quality of life becomes a consideration.”
“Not giving up on him,” Carson answered before I could.
“I don’t want to either,” I agreed. If Linus had lived through the initial stroke, I wanted to give him a chance to make a recovery. I also wasn’t going to have any quality-of-life discussions without reviewing the information with Kat. Carson’s attachment to the horse aside, Linus was the ranch’s property, and they would need to have a say as well. My job at the moment was to collect as much information as possible, so I leaned forward in my chair. “Talk to us about rehab options.”
