Done [Running to Love 4] (Siren Publishing Classic) by Allyson Young

so he told himself. Firmly. Satisfied that Lacey was deeply asleep, he wearily went back into the kitchen to clean up. Cooking was not his interest and clearly not his forte, but he would get it done, just as he would now finish washing the damn dishes. A tap on the door interrupted his grim task. Greg grabbed a dish towel to dry his hands and went to answer it. A small, gray-haired woman stood there, dressed in a flowered house dress, wearing bootie-style slippers. She fixed him with a glare.
    “Are you the father?”
    Shit, this must be Mrs. Withers, and he was getting tired of being accused. Greg nodded. “I’m Greg Jackson. You must be Lacey’s landlady, Edith Withers. Please come in. Lacey is asleep, but I can make coffee. Or tea.”
    Greg had the satisfaction of seeing Mrs. Withers settle down a notch or two in the face of his noncontentious behavior and courtesy. She gave a little shake and jerked her head in acceptance. “Tea, please. Nothing in it.”
    When Greg came out of the kitchen bearing two teacups, Mrs. Withers was perched on the edge of the couch in the same place where he had held Lacey. Greg was glad he’d changed his shirt. He set the cups down with some difficulty, seeing as his fingers were jammed in the small handles, but he knew that women often preferred fine china cups for their tea and so had made the effort. Mrs. Withers actually smiled at him, showing a fine pair of shockingly white dentures. Greg belatedly realized there were saucers to go with the cups.
    “How is she?”
    Greg sipped at the hot beverage, wishing it was a beer, and answered. “Not great. She wasn’t talking for a while there, literally not speaking, but that’s passed, and she cried tonight. I think that’s a good thing.”
    Mrs. Withers nodded gravely. “I lost two of my six babies, young man, and it’s a sad, difficult thing. And I had a good man to help me through it.”
    Greg felt the implied reproach but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he gave an equally grave nod and asked for advice. Mrs. Withers looked gratified and then shook her head.
    “I don’t rightly know. Lacey had started out on a new path when she moved in here. She never said much to me, but I knew she was at the end of an unhappy love affair, and then I right away figured out she was expecting. Even in this day and age, it’s tough for a woman to take care of, raise a child all by her lonesome. But there’s no lack of backbone in that girl, and I thought she could do it. Why did she lose the child, do you know?”
    Greg gave her the condensed version, a bit uncertain how Lacey would feel about her privacy being invaded, but mentally shrugged. Lacey needed as many understanding folks around her as possible, and it seemed she really hadn’t shared the news of her pregnancy with anyone. She must have felt so alone even as she’d hugged the news to herself. Edith and Gladys had guessed it, like he would have if he’d been paying attention and not drowning in guilt that didn’t belong to him. Mrs. Withers nodded again and reached out to pat his knee.
    “Maybe when she conceives again, it will make things easier. You can never replace a child, but having your life full with another takes some of the sting away. I’ll leave you to it, then. You look like you can use some rest yourself. We’ll break bread together over the next while, and I want you to give me the laundry now. The machine is a wringer washer, and I doubt you’ll have a clue. Lacey shouldn’t be doing anything strenuous for the next few days.”
    Greg looked at the elderly, diminutive figure incredulously. It was like having a mom again. He found himself nodding and heading to find the hamper. He bundled up his shirt and the clothing Lacey had thrown in and put it in a sack. Mrs. Withers took it and left, while Greg closed the door behind her and threw the lock. Now it was time to hit the hay, seeing as he hadn’t had more than a few hours of sleep over the past four days.