The summer’s eve could not have been lovelier. She had met many of the wedding guests already. One man she wanted to meet again.
She sidled up to the white-covered table where he sat with three others in conversation and asked, “May I join you?”
The one she’d come to see, a heavy-set handsome dude, gave her a friendly welcoming smile. She sat down.
“I’m an author,” she said. “I happen to be working on a new novel and I have been looking for just the right last name for the main character, a cowboy.
“When we were introduced earlier and you told me your name, I loved it. I love your last name. would you let me use it for Lance?”
“I’d be honored,” he said. “Tell me more about the lucky guy who will have my last name.”
As she was doing so, the other man at the table leaned over and said, “My last name is Vanderpool.”
“A grand name, too,” she said. “I’m in need of one name only,” and noticed that the man’s wife had quit shaking her head ‘no.’
“There’s a lot to my name,” said the man. “It means ‘Strong Protector from the North into the Field of Trouble.”
“Thank you so much,” she said. “The last name of Turbyfill will add much vigor and force to my story of the “Hired Hand.”