The email, from my literary agent, popped up. He’s the wonderful man who first believed in me without reading one line I had written.

He is one of the most respected agents in New York City and it is that uncanny gut mixed with an instinct for marketing that makes him keenly respected among his peers.

I read it. In short, he told me that at least one of my books had been plagiarized on a website called Anthropic. The site had been sued by the Guild and a few authors. They won and now we, who had our words stolen, were eligible for a settlement.

I checked the list finding a bestseller that I wrote for the Zondervan division of HarperCollins: “What Southern Women Know About Faith.” It was the second in a trilogy of books about Southern women and it, quite frankly, created the niche of Southern stories that I have written for two decades.

The news took me back to a bookstore in Los Angeles in the Century Plaza. This was only a few years after my first book was published, having been bought by a Penguin-Putnam after a four-day auction. It was the book for which I had prayed since I was a ‘young’in.’ To that book, I owe all that has come: More successful books, hundreds of speaking engagements, dozens of television and radio appearances and a movie optioned then filmed from my first novel.

But before all that happened, I was on my second book with HarperCollins. A memoir of the happy, adventurous days I worked on the NASCAR circuit, called “My Life In The Pits.”

In a Los Angeles bookstore, I was browsing through Southern fiction and non-fiction when I discovered one, newly released, that sounded similar to “What Southern Women Know.” I pulled it from the shelf and flipped through the pages. Halfway through the first chapter, a paragraph kicked me in the stomach. It was so uniquely my words and stories. My mouth drying out, I read on and discovered more of my verbatim sentences. By the time I finished, I was sick.

It is not without irony that this would happen in Los Angeles.

Broken-hearted – that book was already headed to the NYT best-seller list – I mourned all day as well as during the long flight home. The following day, I called my agent. He is a wonderfully ethical man, and he was appropriately indignant.

“We’ll sue,” he declared. “The publisher will join us. And, we will win. No doubt.”

Slowly, I replaced the receiver and sat on the sofa, pondering the decision to make about it. Honestly, I was hurt to the core. Devastated.

“Oh, dear Lord,” I whispered as I petted my dachshund, who sensing my sadness, had crawled into my lap.

A bit later, I was dragging my feet down the hallway of my house. I remember the spot. In my heart, I heard what I firmly believe to be a divine spirit saying, “Do not sue.”

I fought that voice for a week. In Texas, stealing a man’s livelihood — his livestock — used to be a hanging offense. It’s not as severe these days but still pretty serious. My livelihood – my livestock -- had been stolen.

Finally, I succumbed. I called my agent and told him that there would be no lawsuit. He was stunned but supported me.

It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made but I knew better than to go against that voice.

The woman, whose name was on the book, had hired a co-writer who was the real thief. The other woman, a sweet, gentle person, was forced into bankruptcy by other authors who sued, without hesitation. A once pretty woman, she lost her looks and, eventually, her health.

I was in Memphis when I heard that story. From that day forward, I have often said a thankful prayer that I did not participate in ruining a mostly innocent woman.

But this time? I’ll definitely fill out the paperwork.

Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of the Stella Bankwell series. Please visit www.rondarich.com to sign up for her free weekly newsletter.