“(My momma + curvy roads= wear your seat belt.”

“Once Mamaw's eased her body onto the seat, pinning me in so tightly that a seat belt would just be redundant, we head out of the parking lot and onto the open road. Mamaw and Papaw have agreed to take me shopping for Mackenzie's birthday present, and we're heading out to The Square at the breakneck speed of thirty-four miles per hour."Slow down, Frank," my mamaw commands, patting my knee. "We've got precious cargo."He eases up on the gas and I throw my head back and close my eyes, anxious and frustrated.”

“Ricki Jo," Momma says, "who's on the phone? Tell them it's past your bedtime."I cover the receiver and look over my shoulder at my folks. Right. 'Cause a ten o'clock bedtime is something I want to shout from the mountaintops.”

“He makes lookin' good seem effortless. Like, he lives in that lookin'-good zone. I think I'll wear a long white gown and a short veil, and he and his groomsmen will wear sharp charcoal tuxedos. We'll get married on my farm and-"No, it's Ericka. She doesn't want to be called Ricki Jo anymore," I hear Mackenzie remind Laura.Oh,god. Wolf is looking right at me, wearing a lopsided, perfect, melt-me-into-a-pool-on-my-seat grin.”

“Cowboys in the old days wore guns on their belts' my dad whips his cell phone out of a leather case clipped to his belt, like his very own six-shooter.”

“Nothing sexy," interjects Momma, the ever-present buzz skill.”

“Squished between my grandparents and moving at thirty miles an hour is a small price to pay to get to the vet's office, but today Luke begged to come along, so Papaw is driving even slower than usual. With Luke hunched don behind us in the bed of the truck, obviously without a seat belt, Mamaw keeps her eye on the odometer and yells about "precious cargo" every time the needle nears twenty.”