Love Finds You in Branson, Missouri Read online

  What interested Ellie most, however, was the balcony. She opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony, leaning over the wrought-iron railing to gaze out at the clear water of Lake Taneycomo. Beneath her, and beyond, a couple holding hands strolled along the water’s edge, sharing the walking trail with a few Canada geese. A lone kayaker glided past on the smooth-as-glass lake. Ellie sniffed the clean-smelling air and smiled. Maybe Branson wouldn’t be so bad, after all. The condo, at least, was beginning to feel like a haven.

  Walking out of the bedroom, she explored the kitchen: stainless steel fridge, a hooded gas stove-top with four burners, a dishwasher, double oven, and white granite-topped cabinets. She peeked into the tiny laundry room, equipped with a stackable washer and dryer, a utility closet, and just enough room for a small drying rack.

  On the wall opposite the cabinets was a nice-sized—and completely empty—pantry. Tucked into a nook nearby was a desk. An envelope with her name on it in Opa’s elegant handwriting caught her eye. She ripped it open.

  My dearest Sunshine,

  I stocked a few movies and magazines when I came up here to seal the deal but thought I’d better not leave any food. Here is a check so you can buy some groceries to get you started.

  Love you forever,

  Opa

  The check was made out to Elise Heinrichs for one thousand dollars.

  Chapter Three

  At two o’clock Ellie punched Will Howard’s number into her phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Howard, I’m so sorry I’m not there yet. I thought I had plenty of time, but I’m stuck in traffic.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m on seventy-six, and right now I’m inching past…what’s it called? The Hollywood Museum. There’s a big monkey—King Kong—on the side of the building.”

  “Oh. You’re a good ways off if there’s traffic.”

  “Is it always like this?” Remembering her dream, Ellie began to feel her former aversions to Branson seeping back into her psyche.

  “No, not always. But lots of the time.” He sighed. “There are ways to avoid it. We’ll have to get you a map of the alternate routes.”

  “That would be great. I didn’t know such a thing existed.”

  “If you see the road Gretna coming up on your right, take it. It winds around behind the main drag and then comes back out closer to where we are. When you come back out on seventy-six, take a right and you’ll only have about a mile left before you reach the grounds of The Shepherd of the Hills.”

  “Okay. I’ll do that.” Ellie bit her lip. “Thank you for your patience. I’m really sorry.”

  “No worries. See you when you get here.”

  Ellie ended the call and stared with disgust into the rearview mirror, then in front of her again. Cars stretched out in either direction like an endless snake’s tail, and she felt like a rabbit the snake had swallowed, slowly being digested in its belly with no hope of escape. The traffic slithered forward, ever so slightly.

  Ellie inched the BMW along, fussing with her hair a bit. It had looked good—straight and shiny, pulled back on both sides and held by a tortoise-shell clip at the crown—when she left the condo. Her magenta sundress with the big bright flower appliquéd below the knee was now wrinkled. She wore scant makeup, except for a dash of black mascara to enhance her eyes and a wine-colored lipstick that was almost completely gone now. Reaching into her bag, she reapplied the color, smacking her lips as she scowled into the mirror.

  Ellie hated being late. Even though she was less than excited about the part of Sammy Lane, she’d been raised with good manners, one of the most important being punctuality. It was a blow to her own personal standards to show up late to any meeting, much less one with a new director.

  Blasted Branson traffic.

  * * * * *

  At 2:45 Ellie finally spied the campus of The Shepherd of the Hills. The road leading to it was lined with flags from different countries, and a giant wooden sign in big yellow letters and a turquoise-colored tram announced she had arrived in the correct spot. She pulled into the parking lot and got out, locking the Bimmer. Flip-flops clacking the pavement, she ran all the way to the main building, where Will Howard’s office was housed.

  “Hi, I’m Ellie Heinrichs, and I have an appointment with Mr. Howard,” Ellie announced, a bit out of breath.

  The big-haired blond behind the desk turned from her computer screen and peered at Ellie from underneath long eyelashes. “He was expecting you at two o’clock.”

  “Yes. I got stuck in traffic, but we’ve spoken on the phone and he said he would be here. Would you tell me where his office is?” Ellie forced a smile.

  “Up the stairs and to your right.” The woman whose nametag said DONNA busied herself with the computer again.

  “Thank you,” Ellie murmured, then quickly moved past the front desk and up the stairs.

  Will Howard’s door was open, and as she stood at the threshold, she could see the outline of his shoulder in a red shirt, and the back of his head above his chair, bent slightly as though he might be reading something. His reddish-blond hair was thick, with just a bit of wave—not long but not short either. He was turned away from his desk, toward the window behind him, and was wearing jeans with cowboy boots. His feet were crossed and propped on the edge of a bookshelf. When Ellie gave a little knock on the door, he dropped his boots to the floor and slowly swiveled.

  “Ellie.”

  He said the word not as a question but a statement. His voice was deep and full-bodied. Something in the way he said her name—or maybe it was his green eyes—made Ellie catch her breath before she stepped through the door, but she recovered swiftly, walked forward, and offered him her hand.

  “Mr. Howard, thank you for waiting for me.”

  He squeezed her hand firmly before letting it go, then motioned to one of the chairs adjacent to the desk. It was absolutely hideous, a wooden rocker with multiple layers of paint partially stripped, or so it appeared.

  “You don’t like my chair.” Again, not a question.

  Ellie blushed. “No.” Then, realizing what she’d said, she blushed some more. “I mean, that’s not what I mean. I love it. It’s the ugliest chair I’ve ever seen!”

  Laughter exploded from Will Howard’s throat.

  “Oh my goodness, I’m sorry.” Ellie plopped down, and the rocker nearly flipped over backward. Her bag dropped off her shoulder, her feet went up into the air, and she grabbed onto the armrests for dear life.

  “Whoa!” Will rounded the desk and helped set the chair aright. Then he picked up her bag and handed it to her. Luckily, it was zipped, so nothing had spilled out. That was a mercy.

  Sitting on the chair’s edge, with her feet firmly planted on the ground again, it was Ellie’s turn to laugh. “Is this what you do to everyone who shows up late to an appointment?”

  “No. Just you.” Will sat back against his desk, crossing his feet in front of him.

  “Well, I’m honored.”

  When he studied her for a while without saying anything, Ellie began to wonder if she’d spoken out of turn, been too free and familiar with the last thing she said. They were having fun, and the conversation was easy, but perhaps she’d gone too far. Stepped over the line. After all, he was her director, and this was their first meeting. She smoothed the front of her skirt.

  “Ellie, there’s something you must never do again.”

  His voice was serious and she looked up at him wide-eyed, wondering if he was going to lecture her about being late, or worse, about being disrespectful. “You must never, ever call me Mr. Howard.”

  Ellie breathed deeply, then smiled. “Okay, Will.”

  “Good.” He crossed back around his desk and sat down, opening a drawer from which he removed a packet. He handed it to Ellie. “This is a bunch of general information we give everybody about the history of the property, the play, what we offer here, etc. You’ll need to familiarize yourself with it
so you can answer questions people may ask you. Sometimes you’ll be expected to interact with audience members after performing, and there may be other opportunities you’ll participate in to promote The Shepherd of the Hills. It’s an interesting story, so I hope you won’t mind studying up on it a little bit.”

  Ellie nodded.

  “There’s also an identification badge for you that you need to wear whenever you come here, and a parking pass, and of course, the script.”

  “Did you say we start practice Monday?” Ellie accepted the packet he held out.

  “Yes. Monday at nine o’clock, down at the stage.”

  “Would you mind showing me that alternate traffic route you were talking about?” Ellie unzipped her bag and stowed the packet inside.

  “Uh, sure. Come over here, and I’ll show you.”

  Will opened the laptop computer on the side of his desk and moved it to the center. “Where will you be driving from?”

  “Branson Landing.”

  With Ellie glancing over his shoulder, Will pulled up a map of Branson, enlarging it to the full size of his screen. “See here?” He pointed out Branson Landing and the back road from there that would take her around the perimeter of Branson so she wouldn’t have to drive 76 all the way the next time.

  “I live on the total opposite end of Branson!” Ellie moaned.

  “You didn’t know that?”

  “Not exactly. I didn’t choose my apartment. It belongs to my family.”

  Will raised an eyebrow. “Well, Branson Landing is a nice area. And you should be okay once you learn the alternate route. Want me to print this for you?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” Ellie noticed the scent of leather and something else—rain—that surrounded her as she stood close to Will. Turning toward the window, she heard the printer come to life.

  “Here you go, Ellie.” Will stood and handed her the map. Her hand brushed against his as she took it from him. Their eyes met for a second. She thought she heard a clock ticking.

  Then Will stepped over, bracing himself with his arm against the window frame opposite her, and looked out.

  “I like your view,” Ellie said, finding her voice.

  Will blew out a puff of air and grinned. “You like the tops of trees?”

  “Yes, I do, actually.”

  “It does beat a concrete jungle. I’ll give it that.”

  “My view at home is from a high bluff overlooking the Missouri River. No matter where I go, I carry that view with me. It gives me some sense of peace wherever I am, I suppose, as Yeats said, ‘in my deep heart’s core.’”

  “That sounds a little better than the tops of trees.”

  Ellie laughed lightly. “It is, but it starts with the tops of trees. You look over the trees and down to the river. I love to watch the water.”

  “You’d like my place then. I have a cabin on Table Rock Lake. It’s surrounded by woods and right on the water.”

  “How lovely!”

  “It’s on family land. Perhaps I can show you sometime—” Will ran a hand through his hair, cutting himself off. “I mean, maybe we’ll have a cast party out there or something.”

  “Sure. Sounds like fun.”

  Ellie’s heart throbbed, like the wings of a moth too close to burning heat. She flew back around the desk and stood perfectly still, staring.

  Will smiled at her crookedly and extended his hand. “It was great meeting with you. I’ll see you Monday?”

  Ellie shook his hand. “I’ll be here.”

  Chapter Four

  The trip back to the condo had gone much smoother, thanks to Will’s map. Using it, Ellie even maneuvered a side trip to the red-roofed outlet mall that housed a kitchen store, where she bought a coffee maker and matching grinder, a good set of knives, and some very cool magnetic spice containers, which she planned to mount on the side of the refrigerator. Passing by an old-fashioned fruit stand, she stopped and got a quart each of strawberries and blueberries, a cantaloupe, and a half bushel of peaches, her favorite. She also found a nice grocery store where she stocked up on everything else she needed, including some glorious-smelling coffee beans and the spices to put in her containers.

  After unloading everything, carrying it up the stairs, and putting it all away, Ellie collapsed into the oversized chair. She closed her eyes and didn’t awake till she heard her cell phone vibrating against the hardwood at 9:00 p.m. She reached down and fished the phone out of her bag.

  “Hello?” she said sleepily.

  “Well, how did your meeting go?” It was Beecher.

  “Hey, Beech. What time is it there?”

  “It’s six o’clock a.m.”

  “Are you working?”

  “No, I’m sitting in a Biergarten watching World Cup Soccer.”

  “No way. Not at six a.m.”

  “Okay, so that’s what I wish I was doing. I’m really at my desk—way too early. But did you hear about France? The Frogs are imploding—crazy stuff. South Africa is going to take them out, and I’m glad.”

  “I never did care for the Frogs anyway.”

  “Me neither. And I’m all about South Africa. Let the rainbow flag fly.”

  “Olé.”

  “Olé. So what about the meeting with Mr. Will Howard?”

  She blew out a breath. “How did you know his name?”

  “I checked out the website.”

  “You what? What are they paying you for in that office?”

  “I did it in my spare time.”

  Ellie snorted. “You must be bored.”

  “No, just interested. Doing my big-brotherly duty, if only from afar.”

  “You are hilarious.”

  There was a long pause, and Ellie knew Beecher was waiting. She also knew how he hated to wait.

  “Will you just answer the stupid question?” he finally blurted.

  She smiled to herself and stretched like a cat. “It was fine. Actually, more than fine. I liked him a lot more than I thought I would. And he didn’t seem stupid or backwoods or anything, which was a nice surprise.”

  “Did you not know anything about him before the meeting?”

  “No, not really. At auditions he just sat in the stands and watched, along with a team of others. I saw him point at me once.”

  “As usual, you should do a little more homework.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe that he was up for an Oscar two years ago. If he’d won, he would have been the youngest director in history to receive it.”

  Ellie sat up straight. “That’s impossible! You read that on The Shepherd of the Hills website?”

  “Just that he was up for the Oscar. The other is a bit of useless trivia I pulled out of one of the crevices in my brain. I actually remembered it once I read his name.”

  “What did he direct?”

  “It was a film about Jackson Pollock, a sort of biopic.”

  “I don’t remember it.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. It didn’t get a lot of coverage amongst the bigger movies that were made that year. But it’s an amazing film. I’ve seen it.”

  “Wow. I wonder what in the world brought him to Branson?”

  “That is the question of the hour, isn’t it? The website doesn’t really say.”

  * * * * *

  In an hour’s time, Ellie knew everything Google had to offer on Will Howard, which wasn’t much. From the articles she’d pieced together, he was raised in Chicago, went to a liberal arts college there called Columbia, and then got his master’s degree at UCLA. Submitting his master’s project to a contest, he won the coveted opportunity to intern with Stephen Spielberg at DreamWorks Studios, where he collaborated on a couple of important projects. He first tried his hand at solo directing on the Pollock movie, which Spielberg produced. There was a picture of Will, one of the few, on the red carpet on the night of the Oscars. He was standing with a stunning blond Ellie didn’t recognize as a star—Lynette Rowe—and they seemed to ha
ve dated. The details after the Oscar bid were sketchy, but he basically had dropped out of existence and landed in Branson, Missouri, at The Shepherd of the Hills Outdoor Theatre. One writer questioned his sanity. Another bemoaned his loss. They all had this in common: Will was regarded by everyone in the industry as intensely private.

  Curling up on the red couch with a bowl of fruit, Ellie spent the rest of the evening direct-streaming A Beautiful Mess, Will’s movie about Jackson Pollock, through Netflix. By the end of it her eyes were red and her soul spent. She texted Beecher: Yes. Movie amazing.

  * * * * *

  The next morning Ellie decided to do some exploring on foot. She hadn’t run in days and could feel it in both her muscles and her mood. Time for some free endorphins. She donned some black Nike running shorts with a matching pink shirt, gathered her hair into a ponytail, and slipped into her running shoes where she’d left them at the bottom of the stairs. Then she stepped out her front door, which was actually on the side of her condo.

  For a warm-up she walked the length of Branson Landing, down the promenade of stores and restaurants that began with Belk Department Store, featured Heinrichs Winery’s Tasting Room—a work in progress—and ended with The Bass Pro Shop. It was early, so nothing much was open, but Ellie made mental notes of Coldwater Creek, J. Jill, an interesting-looking Mexican cantina, and another inviting place called The Fudgery. Doubling back along the water, where she saw a rustic catfish restaurant, Ellie started to run.

  The smell of the lake beside her filled her nostrils. The air felt balmy, but the temperature was nice. The sun, barely up over the hillside, brimmed over the lake in yellow streams like melted butter. A few scattered geese floated along, carried by the light current. Seeing something jump on the far side of the lake—perhaps a fish—Ellie squinted to see if it would come up again, but it didn’t. She continued her trek down past the condo and made a loop around the walking park, exchanging “Good morning” with a few retirees who were walking.