I arrived at our property with my children and a woman in a white dress yelled at me: “Get off my property or I’ll call the police,” but when the officers arrived, the lie she had spun in front of everyone fell apart.

He nodded once and held my gaze. A guest nearby whispered that Courtney had insisted for weeks that she had bought the ranch.

Courtney changed her story immediately once she saw me talking to the deputy. “Well, we rented it through a private reservation and everything was legal,” she claimed.

“Who did you rent it from?” the officer asked her. “I rented it from the manager and he can confirm it,” she said.

“He is coming this way right now,” I told them while putting my hands in my pockets. I saw a small crack of fear appear on Courtney’s face.

“It does not matter because I paid him and I have a receipt,” she added quickly. “Then we will clear it up when he gets here,” the deputy replied.

Twenty minutes later, Miller Higgins’ truck appeared in the driveway. He got out and stood motionless when he saw the patrol cars and the guests covered in cake.

Courtney ran toward him like he was a lifeline. “Finally! Tell them I paid you for the rent and tell them this event was legitimate!” she cried.

Miller swallowed hard and said, “I cannot do that.” Courtney stopped dead in her tracks and asked what he meant.