No Longer Mine (7 page)

Close call. It wasn’t all that long ago that Dylan would have pounded into somebody he had taken such a dislike to, without even waiting for a reason.

Wade did wonder a bit at the reversal in loyalties. There had been a time when Dylan Kline hadn’t even spared his older sister a second glance. His only loyalty had been to himself.

But then again, what did he know anymore? He hadn’t seen either of them in five years.

Still, it was weird.

Wade had never seen Dylan stand up for anybody but himself, much less bother getting into a fight over anyone. Shawn might have done it, but only because he was a natural-born brawler. He would have done it for the fun of it, not out of any loyalty or love for his sister.

Time apparently did change things.

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37

Chapter Six

Wade spent the next few days convincing himself he shouldn’t hunt her down. There was no point in it.

No point in rehashing old times. No point at all. So much time had passed and they hadn’t parted fondly.

Better to just leave things as they are
, he told himself as he went to bed Tuesday night.

Wednesday morning he woke with the sole intention of tracking her down. He had to at least talk to her, if only this one time.

It wasn’t hard to find out where she lived either. The beauty of being a celebrity in a small town, he supposed. Although he doubted Nikki cared for it much.

After dropping Abby off at her preschool, he headed out of town. The thirty-minute drive gave him more than enough time to question his motives. He insisted all he wanted to do was clear the air. They had been friends once upon a time, and it was only right that he try to get things on a friendly note between them.

Wade didn’t believe a word he told himself. The winding road led up a steep hill completely covered in trees. Gravel crunched beneath his tires and he began to wonder if he had misread the directions. Surely she wouldn’t be living this far from…

The trees suddenly opened up to reveal a large cabin-style house constructed of wooden beams and glass.

He didn’t have to wonder whether he had the right place because he recognized the gleaming black Ford Explorer parked in the semicircle drive.

The front of the house seemed to consist of little more than windows. And damn, what a view. It was practically perched on the face of the hillside, overlooking a deep valley that was bisected by a wide, lazy creek. Rolling waves of impossibly green grass surrounded him, marked here and there with the chaotic colors of wildflowers.

The glass shimmered under the sun, sparkling bright. The porch spanned the entire width of the house, a comfy swing at one end. The treated wood gleamed a soft, mellow golden brown. Birds sang and called from tall, graceful oaks. Toward the back, he caught a glimpse of sun reflecting off water. A pond.

No Longer Mine

This was very different from the cramped, dirty three-bedroom apartment she had grown up in. It was actually about as far away from it as she could get…and he figured that right there would explain why in the world she’d chosen to move here of all places.

She’d wanted to get away from that place, that trapped, confined little hellhole where rarely a night passed without hearing sirens wailing, where the walls were stained with water, mold and smoke, and where the only scenic view she’d ever been able to find had come from within the pages of the books she read, or the stories she’d created for herself.

“Looks like you managed to do just that, Nik,” he said softly, pride moving through him. Pride…and regret. He wished he could have been there with her as she made this walk.

Gravel crunched under his shoes as he headed for the front door. He mounted the steps slowly, studying the fine construction. This place must have cost a fortune. Intricately carved oak and beveled panes of glass made up the front door. That alone probably cost more than he made in a month.

Who would want to live alone in a house like this? Surely it was too big for just one person. If ever there had been a place built for raising a family, this was it. Married. She had to be married.

Five years had passed, certainly long enough for her to have found somebody and fallen in love.

No
, Wade thought, his gut wrenching. Damn it, he didn’t know if he could stomach the idea of her belonging to somebody else, even though rightfully he had no hold over her. He’d lost that right years ago, shattered it straight to hell.

But what if some guy answered the door? Or worse, a child?

Gritting his teeth, he raised a clenched fist to pound on the door. Tucking his hands in his pockets, he half-turned away to wait. And pray it would be Nicole answering the door.

“Damn it, I’m not yelling!” Nikki yelled at the phone. “And don’t tell me to calm down.” Fortunately, it was on speaker and she was standing by the window.

So her editor and one of her best friends wouldn’t likely be nursing a busted ear drum.

Kris sighed and said, “Nikki, sweetheart, I know this pisses you off. Trust me, it makes me mad too.

But we can’t do anything more than what we’re doing.”

“Don’t give me that. It’s not fricking enough. Why in the hell do people have this sense that they are entitled to just
take
whatever they want? Shit, you got any idea how hard I had to work just to be able to buy a couple of books a month when I was in high school? And most of those were
used
. But damn it, I
paid
for them. I didn’t
steal
them.” She drove a hand through her hair, glaring at the computer. She should be working—she
needed
to be working, but she couldn’t damn well concentrate after seeing that website come up
again
. “They aren’t entitled to just take whatever the hell they want, Kris. It’s not right. It’s so far from right, it’s sickening.”

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39

Shiloh Walker

It made her sick, twisted her gut in a way that was almost physically painful, and for the next little while, at least until her rage passed, she wouldn’t be able to write.

“They
aren’t
entitled,” Kris said. “I know that. You know that. But we can’t convince them.” The ache in her chest wasn’t letting up, but she hadn’t expected it to do. “There are times, Kris, I swear, there are times when I wish I didn’t do this.”

“Honey, please, please don’t tell me that.”

“Sorry. I’m not going to lie about it. Putting all that time and work into those books and having people just take it makes me feel like shit—and they expect me to be
grateful
too. That’s like rubbing salt in the wound.”

“I know.”

“Hours, Kris. I spent sometimes twelve, fourteen hours a day writing. I bust my ass on those books. I do contests. I write myself into surgery. Half the time my back forgets its natural shape because of all the time I spend sitting at my damn computer. I spend thousands every fricking year on research, on contests, on promotional crap, on the damn website…” Her voice trailed off and she sighed, resting her forehead against the window.

The most frustrating part of all was that it was a violation, not just a legal one, although that pissed her off too. But this went deeper than that.

These books, she worked so damned hard on them. So hard.

“If I’d known this fight was waiting for me, I don’t know if I would have signed up for this,” Nikki said quietly.

“So you’re going to let the ones who don’t respect you ruin it for you? Ruin it for those millions who
do
respect you?” Kris said, her voice flat.

“Shit,” Nikki went to shove her hands into her pockets, only to realize the low-slung yoga pants didn’t
have
pockets. “No.
Those
readers deserve better. They are the reason I keep going, and you know it.”

“Yes. They’re worth it, baby.”

“Yeah.” Nikki smiled tiredly. “I know.” Then she sighed and shifted around, resting her hips against the windowsill.

“So I just keep sending take-down requests and searching the stupid internet for this crap. I’m a writer, damn it. I’m supposed to be writing, not messing with this.”

“Then don’t,” Kris said. “You can either forward the information to me and we’ll handle it or you could get an assistant to handle it.”

Nikki cringed at idea of an assistant. Somebody in her house. No. No, thanks.

It was a discussion they’d had a hundred times before and would have a hundred times again.

Blowing out a breath, she said, “You know I can’t just ignore it.” She rested her head against the window 40

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No Longer Mine

again, staring outside. “My work, Kris. If I can’t be bothered to protect my work I’ve got no right expecting somebody else to do it. It doesn’t matter if it takes time away from writing or not. I’ll handle it.”

“Honey, plenty of writers in your shoes do let other people take care of this for them. That doesn’t
mean
they don’t care. It bothers them as much as it bothers you. But you let this get to you, and it gets you depressed and it pisses you off and that interferes with your writing and if you’d just—”

“It’s my work, Kris,” Nikki interrupted, her voice soft but firm. “How other writers choose to handle it when somebody steals from them is their business, but when somebody takes a book I spend months of my life on and just passes it out like it’s nothing, it makes me feel like…like it’s nothing. Like
I’m
nothing.

Like all the writers are nothing…just automatons out there to create something for people’s amusement.

We do our damnedest to bring them a few hours of pleasure, some entertainment and these people treat us like we’re nothing, like we don’t matter. It’s not right. I work damn hard on those books, Kris. All of us do.

It should mean something.”

“You’re right, and you know I feel the same way. But can’t you find another way to handle this?”

“By
not
handling it?” Nikki snorted. “Nope. Not in my make-up.” Nikki looked at her computer.

Right now, save for her brothers and a slowly healing relationship with her dad, the books saved on the computer were pretty much all she had in the world.

Although, logically, even if that weren’t the case, she’d still be the same way.

The job she did was a hard one, one that seemed to get less and less respect with each passing year.

Writers were expected to do more, produce more, for less and less. If she was going to keep writing, then she was going to keep protecting the work she’d devoted much of her life to.

“I can’t pass it off, Kris. So you’ll just have to keep listening to me rant,” she said, knowing her editor wasn’t going to be surprised.

After all, she’d been having this discussion with her for the past two, two and half years. Granted, the discussions had been getting more heated lately.

Kris chuckled. “Well, that doesn’t really surprise me. Besides, this gave me a reason to get out of a meeting I didn’t want to go to. Taking a call from you, even when you’re on a rant, is a lot more fun.”

“Well, if the meeting is still going on, I could rant more. Want me to go on a tirade about the people who feel ‘information should be freely shared’? We can see if they’ll be the ones to pony up the dough to start a fund to provide for the housing, insurance and daily living expenses of all writers, as those writers are expected to work for nothing…” Nikki smirked as she said it. “Maybe they’ll be willing to pay for the hand surgery I’m probably going to have to have next year.” Kris groaned. “Nikki, enough. Look, let’s talk about the book. It’s due in three months. How is it going?”

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41

Shiloh Walker

“Almost done.” She doubted she’d need the three months, but that wasn’t a bad thing. She was going to need a little more time before she started work on the next book in her contract. She flexed her left hand and rubbed her wrist but it didn’t do anything to ease the vague ache there.

“Almost done. Awesome. Tell me about it.”

“Well…” Nikki paused for about five seconds and then said, “It’s a book.”

“You are a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah. It’s sticking pretty close to the synopsis I sent in,” she hedged.

“That oh-so-descriptive one-page narrative? Fine, fine. Keep it close to your chest. Just hurry up and get it to me. And what’s this about surgery?”

“I will. Probably in the next few weeks…because I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need some time before I start on the next one,” Nikki said. “My left hand’s starting to act up. Pretty bad.” Kris didn’t need any more details. Eighteen months earlier Nikki had gone through surgery on her right hand and the doctors had advised she’d likely be facing surgery on the other one at some point.

Apparently some point had arrived.

“What about that voice software?”

Nikki grimaced. “Sometimes I can go into the groove with it, and other times? Not so much. Helps a lot when I’m editing, actually.”

“But not with the writing.”

“Well, considering how miserable I am while I’m editing, I’m willing to take all the help I can get,” Nikki said. “And it will get better, I think. I just need to work with it more.” She glanced at the clock. “Speaking of work, I need to do just that. My slave-driving editor will kill me if she hears I’m talking on the phone all day.”

Nikki heard the motor long before she saw the vehicle. She’d finally gotten into a rhythm with the story and she’d actually used the voice software too.

Damn it.

It would figure.

She stifled a groan as she saved her work.

Who in the hell could that be? Whoever it was, they weren’t welcome. Her dad and brothers all worked, so it wasn’t likely to be any of them. Besides, they would have called.

From the large floor-to-ceiling window in the living room, she watched. From time to time, she caught a glimpse of shiny black paint and silver chrome. It rounded the bend as Nikki tried to remember if she knew anybody who drove a truck like that.

Glancing down at herself, she sighed. The white tank top and black yoga pants weren’t really