RUTA SAT AT A SMALL TABLE, a glass of champagne in front of her. She watched the couple dance to the small combo she’d hired for the party. A smile broke across her face and joy welled up inside her.

  “They make a beautiful couple,” Mario said. “I was right. They belonged together.”

  “You were right? But I was the one who saw it first. It was my amulet, my potion. You just drove the man around the city a few times.”

  “I thought you told Sabina there was nothing to the potion and amulet,” Mario said.

  “So I told a tiny white lie. What harm can it do? She’s never really believed. And I would rather see her happy with a good man than alone and confident in my talents. The charm and the potion worked. I am satisfied. This afternoon I saw a wedding in my crystal ball.”

  “Maybe it was my matchmaking that got the job done.”

  “We make good partners,” Ruta said, patting his hand. “Maybe after I close my shop, we can go into business together. There are plenty of single people in New York looking for spouses.”

  “I don’t know. I have a fiancée now to think about. Do you think we could make any money at it?”

  “You know, it was all my work that got you and Iris together. And you haven’t even thanked me.”

  “How is it your work?”

  “Remember that key chain I gave you for Christmas last year?” Ruta asked.

  Mario reached into his pocket and pulled it out. Ruta held up the charm and Mario gasped. He’d seen the very same charm dangling from Sabina’s neck. “You gave me a love charm?”

  “What harm could it do? Now look at yourself. You have a lovely fiancée and beautiful life ahead of you. You should thank me.”

  Mario chuckled, then gave Ruta a hug. “Thank you,” he said.

  Ruta blushed, then waved him off. “Go. Dance with your beautiful Iris. And remember, it isn’t how we come to love, it is that we recognize it when we find it.”

  Everything you love about romance…

  and more!

  Please turn the page for Signature Select™

  Bonus Features.

  A FARE TO REMEMBER

  BONUS FEATURES INSIDE

  Adventures in Cab Riding by Julie Elizabeth Leto

  Sneak Peek: The Mighty Quinns: Marcus by Kate Hoffmann

  Drive Me Crazy by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Adventures in Cab Riding

  by Julie Elizabeth Leto

  Because of my husband’s job, we travel a lot. Lately, thanks to my job, I’ve been heading to New York with more frequency, as well as other cities. My experiences with taxicabs have been varied, but in keeping with the theme of this collection, I thought I’d share a few tips and experiences based on the cities I’ve visited.

  First, the tips (mostly apply to New York, but other cities, as well):

  It’s easy to tell if a cab is available to pick you up. When the numbers on the top of the cab are illuminated, it is empty. When the numbers are off, the cab is either occupied or on its way back to base.

  To hail a cab, stand at the curb with your arm held straight up and out. Someone called this the Statue of Liberty imitation. Yeah, that fits!

  When you enter cab, speak loud and clear to the driver of your destination. Not only are many of them foreign-born, but the city is noisy and it’s hard to hear through the Plexiglas partition.

  Taxi drivers can try to rip you off by taking a longer route if you don’t seem to know where you’re going. Study your map before you get into the cab and if you can, ask a hotel concierge or doorman what the quickest route is and then tell the driver. Be specific about cross streets. Let them think you know what you’re talking about!

  Wear your seat belt.

  Don’t smoke. It’s against the law and you can be ticketed if stopped by the police.

  Always get a receipt! In New York, at least, the receipts are generated through the meter and have all the information you’ll need to lodge a complaint, send a compliment (those are appreciated, I’m sure) or if you left something in the cab you need to retrieve.

  Always exit the cab on the curbside so you don’t get hit by traffic.

  Tipping isn’t necessary, but it is nice if the driver did his job exceptionally well. And in New York traffic, getting you to your destination in one piece is exceptional in my estimation!

  Remember that New York streets often run one way. Be aware of which direction you are heading in before you decide where to pick up the cab. This can save you both time and money.

  Cabdrivers in New York will wave you off if they don’t want to go where you are headed—even though it is against the rules—especially at the end of their shifts. Keep that in mind when planning travel time.

  Fares to and from the airports in New York have fixed rates. You can check the airport Web site to find out the going rate.

  “Gypsy cabs” are illegal in New York, but they are still everywhere. If it’s not yellow, it’s not an official, regulated cab. It’s best to avoid these cabs if you can as they are often not the safest way to travel since they are not marked nor are they regulated.

  Consider not only regular rush-hour traffic when planning travel through the city, but also location. If you’re in the Theater District, pay attention to showtimes. Getting a cab at four o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon can be tough because of the Broadway matinees!

  Passenger rights are usually posted in the back of a cab, but even if they are not, don’t be afraid to insist that the driver turn the radio down or off, turn the heater or air conditioner on or off, close the windows, stop talking on their cell phone, etc. If they don’t comply, report them, but most will do as you ask.

  My personal taxi reviews by city:

  New York

  New York City cabs are pretty much everything you expect. The drivers are often foreign-speaking, but I have to say that only last trip there, I rode in at least ten taxis and while all my drivers had accents, all but one conversed easily in English and most had been in our country for a very long time. One reminded me a lot of Mario, as a matter of fact, and he told me stories on our short trip that were fascinating. I was careful not to distract him with chatter, though. I did want to arrive alive and New York traffic can be frightening!

  Interesting New York Taxi Facts:

  The first female taxi driver in New York got behind the wheel in 1925.

  The last Checker cab in New York City was retired July 26, 1999.

  In 2003, 238 million people rode in New York taxicabs.

  Chicago

  This is my favorite city to ride in a cab. I don’t know what it is about Chicago, but all the cabdrivers I’ve ridden with (and I go to Chicago about once a year—twice, if I can) have been super friendly, helpful and hardworking. I’ve never once been waved off by a Chicago cabdriver and on my last trip, my cabdriver asked if he could pick up an extra fare on the way to my destination and he’d give me a discount if I agreed. He had two fares, two travelers got a ride and I got a break on the fare and everyone was happy. Chicago cabs are not exclusively yellow as they are in New York, but I only ride in the ones with clear markings.

  Fun Chicago Taxi Facts:

  Yellow Cab of Chicago was founded in 1915 by John Hertz, the same man who later started Hertz Rent-A-Car. He was the first taxi company owner to pick yellow as the taxi color of choice and his idea clearly spread to other cities, including New York, like wildfire!

  Chicago has a famous singing cabdriver named Ray St. Ray who croons love ballads and pop songs with his own social commentary to his fares.

  Las Vegas

  Like all of Las Vegas, the cabdrivers here are efficient and friendly. Las Vegas is not a big place, so getting from point A to point B is more a matter of traffic than it is distance. The driveways into the resort hotels are sometimes longer and more congested than the main thoroughfares. The taxi drivers here do know what’s going on where. They were always helpful if I had any questions. I’ve never tried to catch a cab in Las Vegas during the daytime in July, but I guess it wouldn’t be an easy task unless you’re at the entrance to one of the hotels. I can’t imagine catching one in the street would be easy, so keep that in mind when you go out for a walk.

  Clark County taxicabs are fitted with surveillance cameras that have helped them catch people who have committed crimes in cabs, including stealing the cab from the driver.

  Cabs in Nevada base their fares on both time and distance—if the cab is moving at less than eight-to-twelve miles per hour, it calculates by time—over that speed, and it calculates by distance.

  Reno

  I have to mention the little town of Reno because on my most recent trip, I noticed that Reno had the most colorful cabdrivers I’ve ever encountered anywhere. One might have been partying a little hard before picking me up, if you know what I mean. But we arrived safely at our destination and he was super friendly. Another had fingernails much longer and prettier than mine—and he wasn’t a she. In fact, he had formerly been a truck driver. I had a blast listening to the explanation regarding his manicure (due in part to an industrial accident), but thought when I did my taxi guide, I had to include this story. Be prepared to wait for a taxi in Reno; they don’t just hang around outside of all the casinos and often have to be called. Also, Reno cabs sometimes won’t take more than four passengers in one cab, so if you’re a large party, even if a van approaches, you’ll need more than one cab. It’s at the driver’s discretion, but five is the max.

  Here’s a sneak peek…

  The Mighty Quinns: Marcus

  by Kate Hoffmann

  In bookstores October 2006

  CHAPTER ONE

  “’TIS A FINE THING, Friday nights at Finnerty’s Pub. Cold beer and warm women. What more could we want?” Declan Quinn took a long sip of his Guinness, then set the pint glass down on the table in front of him.

  The pub was dark and smoky, and a neon beer light on the wall illuminated the table where the three Quinn brothers sat. Over the bar, a television played a Red Sox game, now well into extra innings. The seven pubs in Bonnet Harbor, Rhode Island, could be divided into two types, those that rooted for the Yankees and those that cheered on the Sox. But Finnerty’s was the only true Irish pub, with corned-beef sandwiches on command, an endless supply of Guinness on tap and a live Irish band on Friday and Saturday nights. It had become the pub of choice for Marcus and his brothers.

  The pub drew a working-class crowd from the surrounding areas—fishermen, factory workers, shopkeepers and people that worked for the people who worked in the big houses in nearby Newport. It made for a rowdy mix of longtime residents and newcomers, nearly all of them claiming a drop or two of Irish blood.

  Bonnet Harbor lay on the western shore of Narragansett Bay directly across the water from Jamestown and Newport, and was still relatively unspoiled by tourism, although that was slowly changing. New shops and restaurants opened every few months and even now, Marcus could pick out the tourists among those enjoying a drink at the bar.

  Though Bonnet Harbor was technically his hometown, Marcus had always felt like an outsider. He’d spent most of his childhood in Ireland, and when he thought of home, he thought of the stone manor house where his maternal grandmother lived and the old stable where he used to play. Bonnet Harbor was where his parents had settled after leaving Boston and this is where the family business, Quinn’s Boat Works, was located. Marcus’s own business, Q Yacht Design, operated from a building tucked in the corner of the boatyard and he lived in a small apartment above his workroom.

  “If I recall, Dec, you said that exact same thing last week,” Ian commented. “We were sitting right over there and—” At the loud shout of a drunken darts player, Ian twisted in his chair. He’d changed out of his work attire, shedding the uniform in favor of a faded polo shirt and a well-worn pair of jeans. But he still watched the crowd with a careful eye, ready to step in if a simple argument turned physical.

  Ian was police chief of Bonnet Harbor. Declan owned his own security firm headquartered in Providence. And though Dec kept an apartment in the city, he rolled into Bonnet Harbor nearly every weekend, camping out with either Ian or Marcus. They had been close as boys and now, as adults, they were even closer, enjoying a bond that could never be broken.

  “It’s true,” Marcus said. “You did. Those very same words.”

  Declan frowned. He looked oddly out of place, dressed in a tux and pleated shirt, his bow tie hanging loose around his neck. He’d come from another of his high-society parties. But Dec exuded a steely confidence that silently warned against any comment about his highbrow appearance.

  “We were sitting right over there at that table by the window,” Marcus added.

  Ian and Declan both looked at him, as if surprised by his entrance into the conversation. Marcus had always been known as the quiet Quinn, the only one in a family of seven children who didn’t engage in the boisterous family arguments that took place over Sunday supper at their parents’ house. If there was ever a disagreement, Marcus could be counted on to remain neutral. Declan was usually the one to start the argument, then sit back and watch as Ian did everything he could to win the argument.

  Marcus just didn’t see the point in arguing unless the subject was important to him. And there was very little he found to arouse either his ire or his passion. He reached out for his own beer and took a long drink. “Do you ever wonder if we’re maybe in a wee bit of rut?”

  “Jaysus, maybe we are,” Ian said, allowing his Irish accent to tinge his words. “We’ve done this same bloody thing so many times, we’ve begun to repeat ourselves, like those old men down at the docks who tell the same stories over and over again.”

  “At least we still have our own teeth,” Marcus commented.

  “We go out, we look for women, we drink a little too much and then we go home,” Ian added. “If we get lucky, we hook up with a pretty girl. If not, we wake up alone the next morning with a blazing headache.”

  “Predictable,” Marcus murmured. As much as he wanted to deny it, it was true. He loved hanging with his brothers. But lately, he was beginning to feel restless, as if there were something better he ought to be doing with his time, some elusive goal he ought to pursue.

  “Most of the guys our age are married,” Ian said. “Our older brothers, the Quinn cousins, nearly all my friends done it. I haven’t dated one woman that I’d consider marrying.”

  “What happened to Caroline?” Declan asked, reaching for the bowl of pretzels. “I thought you two were in love.”

  “She went back to her old boyfriend,” Ian said morosely. “Said I was a great guy, but he was ready to make a commitment.” Ian shuddered. “God, I hate that word.”

  “Well, there’s your problem,” Marcus muttered.

  “I’m not interested in getting married, either,” Dec offered. “And I make that very clear from the start. It’s all about the sex. Most women appreciate my honesty.”

  “Yeah, right,” Ian said. “Most women think they can change your mind. It’s only after they realize they can’t, they move on.”

  Dec groaned. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “Why? Women spend most of their time talking about us,” Marcus said.

  Ian nodded in agreement, popping a pretzel into his mouth. “If we spent more time trying to figure women out, we’d probably have better luck. I’ll wager I could have a five-minute conversation with any woman in this bar and she’d have me figured out, head to toe.”

  “You’re just about as deep a mud puddle,” Dec said. “It doesn’t take a major intellect to figure you out.” He glanced over at Marcus. “Now our baby brother, he’s a different story. The girls like him because he has an air of mystery about him. He never speaks, so they don’t know where he stands. And he’s not all that interested in figuring them out, so they’re even more intrigued.”

  “He’s quiet because he can’t think of anything intelligent to say,” Ian teased.

  “I know what your problem is,” Marcus said after a long silence. “Instant gratification.”

  “What?” Dec and Ian said in tandem.

  “That’s all you look for. You find a girl, hook up and never call her again. The next weekend, you’re right back out there looking for someone new.”

  “I’m not looking for a wife,” Dec insisted.

  “Neither was Conor or Dylan or Brendan,” Marcus said. “Or Brian or Sean or Liam. They didn’t want to get married until they found a woman they wanted to marry. And then they got married.”

  Dec took a moment to digest his brother’s words then shook his head. “Wonky reasoning, that is,” he said.

  “I think finding a woman is a lot like fishing,” Ian declared, leaning back in his chair and linking his hands behind his head. “You just keep hauling ’em into the boat until you get a keeper.”

  “And then you stuff it and hang it on the wall,” Dec said with a chuckle.

  Ian sighed. “Maybe we’ve been fishing with the wrong bait. Or maybe we’re fishing in the wrong waters.”

  “And what fishing spots would you suggest?” Marcus asked.

  “I don’t know. Pubs haven’t been working for us. So…” Ian drew a deep breath and shook his head. “I don’t know. I hear the Internet works pretty well.”

  “We’re smart guys,” Dec said. “I don’t think we need to resort to electronic means. We can certainly figure this out.”